Thirty, Flirty and Thriving
by bookwormchocaholic
Summary: When Belle turns 30, she decides to do away with her spinster librarian image. Encouraged by her father, she goes to Gold. Gold knows fashion. She is drawn to the pawnbroker...but she must keep her feelings in check because Gold is gay.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Belle peeled back one eye lid and then the other. Sunbeams angled past her lacey curtains and flooded her room, glaring in her tightened face.

A moan escaped from her parted lips as she stretched her arms and legs as far as her body would allow. She slumped back against her well-worn mattress and burrowed her face into her warm pillow. The tantalizing scent of chocolate chip pancakes wafted from the downstairs kitchen, all the way up to her bedroom. Tickling her nostrils, her nose twitched.

Today was her birthday. Her thirtieth.

She had spent last night watching one of her favorite movies, "13 Going on 30," however this time the romantic comedy didn't cheer her up. In fact, it made her feel worse. It reminded her of her own failures in life. That she, too, was not Thirty, Flirty and Thriving.

Belle wriggled onto her back and sighed.

She was thirty, still living at home with her father; she had no husband, she didn't even have a boyfriend. There were no prospects either. Forget children! She was boring. Even her flannel pajamas were boring.

At least she had her job at the library.

 _But that's it. That's all I have. My job._ Belle rubbed her left eye with her closed fist.

There was a thud on the stairs, followed by the clomping of heavy feet.

 _Papa._

Seconds later, Papa barreled into her room, bearing a tray. Three chocolate chip pancakes were neatly piled onto a plate. Milk and juice were off to the side and there was a fresh white rose in a tiny vase off to the side.

Belle scooted into a sitting position. This was their tradition; when one had a birthday, the other fixed breakfast in bed.

Papa was beaming, unaware of her crestfallen expression. "Rise and shine!" Settling the tray on her lap, he planted a kiss on her brow. "Happy Birthday, pumpkin!"

Belle blinked back the tears, but it was no use. They soon began to fall.

"What? Belle?" Papa asked, finally taking notice. He dragged the computer chair over to the side of her bed.

Swiping at her cheeks, she hated herself for succumbing to her emotions. Especially at her age. "I'm sorry, Papa. Thank you. They look delicious." She managed a wobbly smile.

"C'mon, talk to me." Her father frowned. "If you wait for me to guess, you know it'll be a long wait."

That was true. Sweet and loving as her father was, he wasn't the most observant soul. When she was twelve and she mentioned that the other girls in class wore MUDD Jeans, which had been a hint that she wanted a pair, he thought she meant that her classmates came to school dirty. His solution was to buy extra laundry detergent for her to give to her filthy classmates. That way no one was doing without and their parents need not be ashamed. When she began to develop and she told him that she was "developing," he thought she meant that the teachers at school were teaching the students how to develop film.

Needless to say, Moe was out of touch with society.

"Papa, I'm thirty. I should be married with children." Belle couldn't bear it. She considered herself a modern woman, despite the fact that she lived at home. She ought to be content with herself first before marrying or starting a family. But the majority of women her age had someone to love. She, on the other hand, never had that. "I want a husband with children. I need to do something to make that happen, or else I'll be living here when I'm thirty-five and then forty." She cringed at how harsh she had sounded. "I'm sorry, Papa."

The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt his feelings, or for him to feel like she was abandoning him. Since her mother died when she was ten, it had just been the two of them. That was one of the reasons Belle had stayed at home for so long.

"Well," Papa harrumphed. "It's about damn time."

"What?"

"I never wanted to push; these things have to happen in their own time. But sometimes you need to give life a hand."

Belle sniffed. _Stop it, don't cry. You're just feeling vulnerable. Keep it together._ Poor Papa, she had written him off as oblivious to her plight, but he had noticed.

"Thank you, Papa. I need to change myself, because this isn't working." She explained, signaling towards her closet. "I need a makeover."

She didn't dress badly, per se. Her clothes were more bland than anything. Long skirts, cardigans, flat shoes, high collars…Muted, oatmeal tones. And makeup, she never wore makeup. Somehow, without knowing it, she had developed into the cliché, spinster librarian. It didn't help that she was short and flat chested.

 _No wonder I'm alone._ One time Keith Nottingham called her a Plain Jane, and she had started to babble about how that phrase was coined in 1912 and how urban legend was that it originally referred to "Jane Eyre," by Charlotte Bronte. He stared at her like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears.

"If that's what you want, I'll support you." Papa lifted and dropped his massive shoulders. "Though, I have to admit, I like you as you as you are now. And any man worth his salt would too. Now, eat your breakfast before it grows cold."

He stood and placed another kiss on her brow before ambling from the room.

Belle cut her pancakes and shoveled forkful after forkful into her mouth. Bits of chocolate exploded on her tongue and that helped. Her father was sweet, but he had told her she was pretty when she had acne dotting her face and when she lisped because she wore a retainer.

No she needed a makeover, in the worst way, and fast, before it was too late and she ended up alone for the rest of her life.

#

Gold hated collecting the rent. The steps he had to climb and the pivoting he did, did a number on his weak ankle, which put him in a beastly mood by the end of the day. But it was worth it, because occasionally it offered him a quick glimpse at the florist's daughter. He used to have his associate Dove collect the rent, but ever since he encountered Belle French minding the counter one day, while her father was in back, he closed up his pawnshop and made it a priority to collect the rent himself. Even though it entailed calling upon each of his renters.

 _Every, single, pain in the ass renter._ He grimaced for a brief moment.

Belle was intelligent; she knew all sorts of odd facts. On a particularly chilly day one summer, she joked that they might "be having another year without a summer." Evidentially in 1816 there was a volcanic eruption that interfered with the weather and the world was cast into a belated winter. Whenever she talked of a new book she was reading, her whole face brightened and her eyes glittered. She was beautiful, naturally so. Her wide open face, guileless eyes, and pink lips was softened by a brunette mane that shrouded her head. Then there was the fact that she was always courteous to him. The people of Storybrooke avoided him like the plague. They wanted to rent his properties and make deals with him, however they were always astonished when he came to collect.

Not Belle, though…she was different. Special. He liked her.

He lingered outside The Game of Thorns and calling upon the small amount of courage he had within him, he entered the building. A tiny bell serenaded him.

Moe French was behind the counter, on the phone with a customer. His spirit plummeted. Belle wasn't there today.

Gold couldn't get over the differences between father and daughter. Moe was a large, overweight and bumbling. Not an ugly man, but he looked nothing like his daughter. Or rather his daughter looked nothing like him. Gold supposed that Belle resembled her mother. Small, with baby doll features, large blue depths that seemed to peer straight into his soul.

He waited, watching as Moe held up a finger.

The florist was taking down an order. "Well, I have some pinkish vases. She likes mauve? Um…" He raised his head and surveyed the room. "Well…"

Gold took pity on him and used the end of his cane to point to a particular vase on a stand a few feet off. Since Belle wasn't present, he was eager to leave as soon as possible. "This is mauve, Mr. French." He whispered.

Moe nodded his thanks and continued with his phone conversation. "Thanks. Yes, we have mauve. Wonderful. I will have it ready by this evening. You're welcome. Goodbye." He hung up the phone and when he completed his invoice, he wrote out a check, then handed it to Gold. "You know your colors, huh?" the man said off-handedly.

"I suppose." Gold shrugged, folded the check and slipped it into his breast pocket. "Isn't that one of the fundamentals learned in one's childhood?"

"You dress really nice too." Moe was scrutinizing him through slitted eyes, his round face puckered in contemplation. "The suits are designer, right?"

Gold took a step back. "What is your point?"

"Just that, you're a snazzy dresser."

Gold stiffened. Moe was laughing at him. He accustomed used to it. No one quite understood why he preferred three-pieced-suits; silk ties, two hundred dollar loafers. He had heard his share of jokes about his choice of clothes. That he was a businessman and wanted to look the part should have been obvious. Somehow the rest of Storybrooke couldn't grasp that. Of course the suits served as an armor, to protect him from those who sought out his vulnerabilities.

"I did work in theater, once upon a time." Gold closed his eyes for a second and shook his head, knowing that by the end of the day, that piece of information would be spread to the four corners of Storybrooke. "Is that all?"

"Right. Sorry." Moe's mouth widened into a grin. "Have a nice day."

Gold didn't respond and strode outside. The noon-day sun was high, powerful, and made the town of Storybrooke bloat from the heat. Sweat beaded along his hairline; his crop of shaggy hair was plastered to the back of his neck. Many times he considered chopping it off. But his hair had always been his trademark, and it hid his oddly shaped ears.

 _That was strange._ Gold reflected on his recent conversation with Moe French. The man never commented on his appearance before. And why he had mentioned his past work in the theater was ridiculous. He never told anyone that.

Jefferson Madden was approaching from the opposite end of the sidewalk. They met midway through.

"I finished the order and can bring it by later this evening, if that's convenient." Jefferson said.

Jefferson ran his own business; he made and sold hats. Very eccentric hats that the ladies loved. Gold purchased a number of them and sold them in his shop. He thought they were ridiculous, but they were moneymakers. To each their own. Jefferson was a widower, with a daughter to support, so he didn't care what he had to do to provide for her.

"That would work." Gold muttered.

"Something wrong?" Jefferson asked.

"Mr. French was acting, well, peculiar. He sort of complemented me on my attire."

"Oh?" Amusement lit up Jefferson's face. The cleft in his chin deepened. "Well, I must say, you do look nice today."

"Shut up." Gold rolled his eyes and waved him off.

He continued on to his next property, which was a bookstore. Perhaps he'd run into Belle French there. Now if she were to comment on his appearance – not that she ever would- that would be different. That would mean something. But Belle wouldn't. She was unaware of his crush on her and she probably never gave him a second thought.

It was wrong, really, for an old man to be lusting after a young woman. But he couldn't help it. He was weak when it came to her.

#

Belle went past the drugstore and purchased two bags full of makeup and magazines. The second she got home, she ducked into the bathroom. After skimming through the magazines, she found one featuring a model that bore striking similarities to her. Similar complexion and hair coloring…someone she could resemble.

She had to do a 180. She was dull, plain, and boring. Therefore she had to be flashy, exciting, and bold. Flirtatious girls got all of the attention and always found love in the end. _No more Miss Nice Belle._

Half an hour later, she looked more like Lady Gaga than Belle French. She used all of the products the way they were supposed to be used: cover stick, liquid foundation, blush, powder, eye brow pencil, false eye lashes, two eye shadows, eye liner, mascara, lipstick, lip liner…All she needed was a red plastic nose and she would be Bozo the Clown. It weighed heavy on her skin, like a mask.

 _Perhaps it's not so bad._ She scrunched her nose at the reflection in the mirror. After all, she never wore makeup before. Of course it would look funny on her.

Belle exited the bathroom and found her father in the kitchen, frying eggs on the stove. "Ta da!" she exclaimed.

Papa swung around and dropped the pan on the burner. "Whoa." He gaped at her.

"I look stupid." Her shoulders fell. "I'm ugly-"

"No, you're not ugly." He advanced to her and brushed his thumb against her cheek. A residue was left on his the pad of his finger. Wiping it on the towel draped over his shoulder, he shook his head. "You just…putting all of that on at once, it's like war paint."

"I tried to copy the model in the magazine." She explained, feeling as though she could cry. This wasn't working; she'd never find someone to love.

"Models aren't real people, pumpkin." Returning to the stove, he put an egg on each of their plates, added slices of toast, and laid the plates on the table. Motioning her to the table, they sat down. "They don't eat and they inject poisons into their skin."

"This was a bad idea." Belle jabbed at her eggs, until she busted the yellow domes in the center.

"No, you just need some help. Someone who knows how to do these things." He held up his index finger. "Gold."

"Gold what?"

"Gold, our landlord." Papa said. He took a bite of his egg, winced, and added more than a pinch of salt. "Keep this under your hat, but I think he's gay."

"So?" Belle swallowed.

She didn't know Gold well. He was their landlord and though quite reserved, he was cordial. Folks whispered, muttering unkind things about him. Apparently he was hard-hearted, cruel, and unmerciful. He never went back on a deal. Gold was known to make grown men cry. With his cool demeanor, sporting his three-pieced suits, he considered himself a cut above the company.

It was a difficult image to reconcile to the man who dropped in at the flower shop once a month and listened to her babble about books and useless facts. Gold was intriguing, a mystery that she'd love to uncover.

He was handsome. Polished, rarely a hair out of place. Except for when a breeze tussled his floof; of course, then his pixie ears were in view. Whenever he flashed her a smile, his gold tooth twinkled, and her stomach knotted.

She never got the impression he was gay though. For some reason, she found it disappointing that he was.

"So, they know these sorts of things. He worked in theater and he knows designers. He could help you with all of this." He pointed the prong of his fork in her direction.

Belle shook her head, protesting, "Papa, I barely know him. Besides, Mr. Gold doesn't freely help anyone." Though Gold had been kind to her, she doubted that he'd go out of his way to help her.

"Tell him that if he helps you, I will owe him a favor. That can be my birthday present to you." Papa smiled, proud of his idea.

"I'll think about it." Belle promised, privately deciding that if anyone were to be indebted to Gold, it would be her. After all, this was her business.

She wished she could think of someone else to go to, but she was terrible at making friends. And she would be embarrassed to approach a stranger.

Gold was it. There was no other option.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Belle shuffled towards the employee entry way of the library, which was situated at the side of the building, silently scolding herself for losing track of the time at Granny's. _Ten minutes until the library opens,_ she calculated after checking her wrist watch. Usually she was at the library a half an hour before opening. Always punctual and she had not taken a day off in three years.

Thankfully her loafers allowed for her quicken her pace. She had only meant to be at Granny's for a few minutes, to find out what information she could about Gold's personal life. According to Granny, Mary Margaret, and Ella, the "old bastard" lived like a hermit. To their knowledge he didn't date and he never looked at a woman unless wanted to find fault with her. That didn't automatically make him gay, of course. But Storybrooke was a small town and small towns tended to be judgmental about alternative lifestyles. Mother Superior of the local church, and the like, would no doubt make Gold's life miserable if he publically "came out." So, it made sense that he would keep that part of his life private.

" _He is gay, I'm sure of it, pumpkin." Her papa persisted earlier this morning. The man would not let it go; his sturdy jaw was set determinedly, reminded her of a bull dog refusing to let go of his squeaky toy. "Gold knew what mauve was. I heard on a TV show that you can use the color mauve as a test to know if a man is gay or not. If a man knows what mauve is, he's gay. And Gold knows what mauve is and he worked in the theater, so he has to be gay."_

Belle had never heard of such a test before and though her Papa was often mistaken about many things, she herself knew so little of men. Straight and gay, they were a mystery to her. She had tried to date a little bit in college and it was a colossal disaster. College guys were shallow and had no interest in her other than sex. In the end, she threw in the towel.

Whether Gold was gay or not didn't matter; her only concern was whether he would be willing to lend his expertise. Or if he could. Papa said Gold worked in theater and that could have meant a number of things. Director, actor, costuming, make up, set design…Until she spoke to the man himself, she couldn't be certain.

Belle was unlocking the door when she heard the grotesque sound of a man coughing and clearing the mucus from his throat. Wrinkling her nose, she turned around.

Killian Jones strode towards her, with a laptop under his arm. His greasy, dark hair hung in his filmy eyes. "Hey, you know anything about computers?"

"We're not open just yet." Belle said crisply, pursing her lips. "Fifteen more minutes."

"Fine, I'll wait." He grunted.

She held up her hand, resting it on his chest, stopping him from going any farther. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Glancing down at her hand which was still on his pectorals, he leered. "Going in. I'll be real quiet, you won't even know I'm there." As if to smooth things over, he winked.

"I said fifteen more minutes." Belle reiterated, removing her hand. She wiped the heat it carried from him on her denim skirt. "Besides, this is the employee entrance way; you're not permitted to go through here."

"C'mon. I won't tell if you won't." Killian angled his body in an attempted to slip on through.

Storybrooke was rife with rumors about Killian Jones. The Irishman loved his ship and sailing, he could hold his liquor, he had quite the reputation with the ladies, and he never took "no" for an answer. Every encounter she had with the man, left her with a bad taste in her mouth. She never would have pegged him for the type to own a computer, let alone know how to use one. Though she had assisted others with their computer problems – most of those people were little old ladies – the library was hardly a place for computer tech support.

Despite her small stature, she gave Killian a firm shove and he staggered backwards a few feet.

"Stop! You are not allowed in here!" Belle shot back.

She ducked into the building and as she slammed the door in his face, she heard him shout, "What the fu-"

In case he had the nerve to open the door, she locked it and exhaled a breath. He might have been a favorite among the ladies of Storybrooke, but she found his cocky swagger and tendency to brag about his conquests off-putting.

Belle took her time turning the lights on, saving the computers for the last. She hoped that by the time she unlocked the front door, that Killian would have left. To her disappointment, he was loitering out by the curb. Counting to ten, she unlatched the door and motioned for him.

"Ugh, finally." Killian stalked in and went straight to the point. "So, do you know about computers or what?"

"I'm not an expert, but I can take a look, provided you ask nicely." Belle crossed her arms and rocked back on her heels.

"Fine." Killian shrugged, and then batted his lashes at her. "Will you pretty please with sugar on top, fix my computer?"

"I'll try." She scowled and directed him to one of the long tables in the back.

Taking a seat, she expected him to sit across from her and was a little unnerved when he plopped down in the chair next to her. _He probably just wants to see what I do that way he can do it himself next time._ Belle told herself.

Cracking open the computer, Belle turned it on and it was a few minutes before it warmed up. Once it did, she found that the problem was simple. Updates for his computer had not been installed since the machine was purchased. A dozen or so clicks of the mouse and the installations were in progress.

"You need to update your computer every six months." Turning her head in his direction, she jerked when she realized how close he was.

Killian was leaning towards her, mere inches away, his black eyes roving over her figure. He tugged on one of his earlobes, the one that was pierced, and curled his tongue in his open mouth. Per most of the women she knew, the Irishman oozed of masculinity and testosterone in his tight leather pants, and he liked to show off his hairy chest by allowing his shirts to hang open. The man's thick breath reeked of cheap rum. He was handsome to be sure, but Belle found herself drawn to more unconventional looks and shyness.

 _He's flirting_. It had been years since anyone had looked twice at her and were it anyone else, she might be flattered. Instead, he made her feel filthy.

"Could you sit back?" Belle wrinkled her nose. "You're too close and it's making me really uncomfortable."

"Sor-ry." Killian sank back in his chair and digging around in his leather jacket pocket, he extracted a pack of cigarettes.

"Don't you dare light one of those!" Her voice was raised, far above a librarian's whisper. But considering that this grown man was acting more like a moody teenager, she figured the rules could go out the window once. "This is a public building."

Shoving the pack back in his pocket, he groaned. "Are you always this uptight?"

Belle glanced back at the computer and rejoiced that it had finished its updates. Slamming it closed, she pushed it back towards its owner. "There, finished. You can go now."

Killian smirked. He got to his feet and snatching up his computer, he winked. "Thanks, love. I owe you one." He turned his back to her and sauntered off.

"Don't call me love; I'm not your love!" Belle shouted at his retreating figure. "Jerk."

Her day was just beginning, but she couldn't wait until she got home. She needed a shower in the worst way, to rid herself of the essence of Killian Jones.

Rubbing the back of her neck, urging the tense muscles to relax, she shook her head. If Killian was the kind of guy she was attracting in her dowdy clothes, then she had to have a makeover. There was no two ways about it.

 _I'll go to Gold's tonight._ Belle decided. She only hoped that Gold would be willing to take her up on her deal. Then she could make her dream of being thirty, flirty and thriving come true.

#

Killian kicked off his boots, shed his clothing, and stretched out on his cot in the cabin. The easy rocking of the boat soothed him, relaxing from the energy charged evening he spent at the Rabbit Hole. The spicy scent of his previous night's bed buddy in the sheets filled his nostrils.

As his lids grew heavy, he was reminded of the young librarian whose feathers he ruffled when he dropped by the library with his computer. _What was her name?_ He racked his brain and then a sly grin slithered across his devilishly handsome face. _Belle French. That's it!_

Rolling onto his back, Killian rested his head on his bent arm. For the life of him, he didn't know why he couldn't put her out of his mind. She was just another woman, if only in the technical sense. Belle French didn't do pretty, yet she could be if she tried. She embodied the whole prim librarian cliché, to the point she was frigid. Hiding that hot bod of hers in clothes that better suited for Granny Lucas, he couldn't figure out what the problem was. He was willing to wager his favorite brand of rum that Belle never even had sex. Poor girl didn't know what she was missing.

Belle didn't like him, she made that perfectly clear, which was frustrating.

 _Women like me. They can't help it._ He ought to do himself a favor and forget about her, but he couldn't. There were other girls out there, ones far hotter than her. But he couldn't. He liked a challenge. _It's the mousy ones you gotta watch out for. They're the best in the sack._

 _Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do._ Killian nodded. He'd woo her by paying attention to her, get in her pants, and then once he had his fill, he'd be satisfied and he'd move on.

#

Gold cursed when the peel of the bell over his shop door sounded. It was near four; rarely anyone came into his shop this late, therefore he had all the time in the world to lose himself in one of his projects. Tucked away in his workshop, he was hunched over a 1940s timepiece, repairing the mechanics; the foolish owner had wound the watch too tight.

Whoever it was moved on noiseless feet, piquing his curiosity enough to lay his tools aside. He batted the curtain aside and was somewhat surprised to find Belle French peering into one of the display cases. Her father had not notified him of any issues with the building they occupied and they had just paid their rent for the month.

With her hair drawn back in a severe fashion, her lithe frame swathed in a bulky sweater and a long skirt, an image popped into his mind. One of her shushing him for being too loud and severely punishing him…

Gold shook his head, dispelling his dirty thoughts. "May I help you?"

Belle whirled around and shyly smiled at him. "I hope so. I don't know if you remember me or not, but I'm Moe French's daughter, Belle." She paused, waiting for him to nod that he did remember. As if he could forget such a woman. "My father, well, he said that you worked in theater."

"That was a lifetime ago." His heart sank. So that was it. Belle wanted to be famous and wanted him to make it happen for her. He had thought she was different from all of the others, an exception to the rule. But he should have known that comment to her father would come back to haunt him. "And before you ask me, no, I no longer have connections to the theater scene." He dismissed her with a careless wave of his hand.

"No, not that." Belle giggled, shaking her head. "I want a makeover."

Gold blinked his surprise. _A makeover?_ That was new. If he had a nickel for every time someone had approached him in hopes of hitting it big, he would be…well, he would be as wealthy as he was now. However, no one had ever approached him requesting a makeover.

"I beg your pardon?" He mustered out, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You clearly know fashion and I thought you might know something about cosmetics. Beauty tips. You know, because of your theater connections." Belle explained, yet she had left so much unsaid.

First of all, Gold could not wrap his mind around the fact that Belle had come to him of all people for help. Just because he worked in the theater didn't guarantee that he was familiar with cosmetics or costumes. He was though. Early in his career, he had doubled as a makeup artist and costume designer for a community theater in Brooklyn. It wasn't long before he was sought after and did a number of Broadway shows. That was fifteen years ago, though. Not that he lost his touch; an artist never truly did.

But why Belle French would want a makeover was a mystery. Belle was beautiful. She dressed plain for her age, choosing colors that did not complement her skin tone, and the oversized pieces swam on her petite frame. But to ask for a makeover was extreme. What she lacked was self-confidence and that was unfortunate.

"There are people who do that for a living. Professionals." Gold replied dryly.

Her eyes settled on him, her expression full of hope. "Yes, well, you make a statement. I could pay you, or…I could owe you a favor."

Her voice barely audible, Gold nearly snorted a laugh. She made it sound as though their prospective deal were some grave sin. Perhaps in the town's eyes it would be a sin to work with him. Especially for a girl as nice as Belle.

Scrutinizing her, searching for any sign of duplicity in her eyes and features, Gold was forced to admit that Belle French was harmless.

He ought to decline. A gentleman would. Were he to go through with this deal, the crush he had on her would put her at a disadvantage. He would be spending time with her under false pretenses. Well, that would be the least of it, really.

He would be touching her. He would have to when he styled her hair and applied the makeup.

As Belle stood ram rod straight before him, he couldn't get over how soft she looked. Her skin, her hair, her curves – all soft. Pliable. He'd love nothing more than to explore her body, see if he was right. She was probably better than what he could envision. If he made her over, he would have free reign to touch her, see what she really felt like. Her face and hair, anyway. He would never kiss her or touch her any place intimate. Not even he was that monstrous.

It had been ages since he had touched a woman. Fifteen years to be exact. After his divorce, he couldn't risk his heart again, only to have it ripped out and crushed.

Then again, he wasn't a gentleman. He was the beast of Storybrooke. He wouldn't hurt her or overstep his bounds; she would never know of his feelings. Belle would be repulsed by that. But if he were making her over and he happened to enjoy the process at the same time, would that be so bad?

 _What harm would it cause? Belle would get what she wanted and I could have her company._ Gold reasoned.

"Mr. Gold?" Belle gentle tone drew him out of his musings. "Please?" The brunette beauty was staring helplessly at him, her vulnerability self-evident.

"A favor?" Gold braced his well-worn palms on the surface of the counter and cocked his head to the side. "Now you are speaking my language. I suppose I could help you, but you would be in my debt until I decide on my favor."

He wouldn't ask much of her; after all, the chance to touch the woman he had feelings for more than compensated. But he had to make her believe that she would be upholding her end of the deal.

"I understand." Belle eagerly nodded her head and stuck out her hand to shake his. "You have my word."

"Then you have mine." He clasped her hand, marveling in how delicate it was. Every feeling rebelled within him when he released her. But he reminded himself that in a few days, she would be coming to him for the makeover. "Stop by my house on Sunday afternoon. We'll get started then." He instructed.

Belle was beaming. "Thank you, Mr. Gold!"

The second Belle was gone, Gold let out a lengthy breath, one that he had not realized that he had been holding in.

 _This is wrong._ A little voice chanted in his ear, hissing like a small demon sitting on his shoulder.

It was wrong. But he did his best to ignore such whispers and returned to his workroom.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE 

_Salmon._

Gold's house was salmon.

If there were any doubts about Gold's orientation, they were assuaged as Belle first laid her eyes on his three-story salmon colored house. Gazing up at it, she was awestruck.

It was breathtaking- a Queen Anne's Victorian mansion, complete with stain glass windows, a wraparound porch, and a balcony adjacent to what must have been the master bedroom. The sort of thing little girls dreamed of and the kind of home that grown women prayed for. She had heard that their landlord had a huge house – some bitterly called it a _large estate_ , though she had never seen it before.

Needless to say, it was overwhelming.

 _Stay calm!_ Belle commanded her trembling limbs, as her fingers tightened around the handles of her plastic sacks. With such a fine house, no doubt it was full of fine furniture and knickknacks and priceless heirlooms. And whenever she was nervous, she tended to get clumsy. As a girl, her father used to call her a _belle in a china shop._ Instead of growing out of it, in many ways, it had gotten worse. She was an accident looking for a place to happen.

Inhaling through her nose, Belle mounted the porch stairs, her plastic sacks of make-up bobbing along, and she punched the doorbell.

The door swung back and Gold filled the doorway, his mouth drawn into a severe scowl.

He had invited her to come over today, although he had not specified the time.

"Sorry, am I too early?" Belle bit her lip and winced. She had been doing that too much as of late and worried a raw spot there.

"No." Was Gold's clipped reply. He muttered something under his breath; she could have sworn it was Gaelic, but she couldn't be sure. With a quirk of his finger, he motioned her inside. "Come along, Miss French."

Belle hurried into the house before she lost her courage, the bags rustling. She paused in what she assumed was a parlor; it was a room that paid tribute to the late Victorian Era. Aside from a TV and electricity, each piece of period correct furniture looked as though it had been handpicked by the owner himself.

Gold briefly touched the small of her back, sending tingles up her spine. "Let us adjourn to the master bath. There is more room there to move around." He suggested, guiding her towards the stairs.

His cane clicked on the stairs, falling in rhythm with her heartbeat. _Why am I nervous?_ Belle asked herself. Gold might have been wealthy, he might live in a fancy house, he might have been more experienced than she was – but at the end of the day Gold was a man. He was no different than any of the other men she knew.

But as they entered the master bedroom and then the bathroom, she realized how different Gold really was. _He's classy._ Belle admitted. The walls were a cream tone and the hardwood floor had a dark finish painted on it. His four poster bed had to be an antique, something straight out of a fairy tale, draped in a dark blue comforter. French doors led to the balcony that she had noticed when she arrived. There were was no sports posters, or silly bobble heads, no dirty clothes lying about, and everything seemed to be in its place. Not that she had ever been in a bachelor's room before, but she had read enough books and seen enough movies to know that men were not clean creatures. Her father wasn't; sweet as he was, her papa was a slob.

The bathroom was just as neat – white trimmed in blue, it gleamed when he flipped on a light. It was pretty.

A stool next to the counter, opposite of the mirror, awaited her.

"Have a seat." Gold patted the seat and his brow furrowed when she put the bags on the counter. "What is that menagerie?"

"My makeup." Belle hopped up on the stool and hoped that she could keep her balance. With her luck, she would topple over or kick his cane out from under him. "It's new."

Gold opened one bag and pawed through it, then dismissed it with a bat of his hand. "You won't even be using a fourth of that. You don't need it." His golden eyes settled on her, scrutinizing her appearance before declaring, "But first things first, the hair."

"What are you going to do me?" Belle unconsciously touched her hair. Casting a glance in the mirror, her hair wasn't ugly. A little dull, it tended to be used as a cloak to hide behind.

Gold retrieved a towel from the linen closet and draped it around her shoulders. He drew her hair out from underneath and ran his fingers through it, as though to get a sense of it. "Nothing drastic." He released her tresses. Opening a drawer, he produced a box of hair coloring and a pair of scissors. "I selected a coloring and then I was going to do some layering. If you are agreeable to it."

Belle examined the box of coloring; the shade wasn't that far off from what she had now, however the model on the front looked gorgeous.

She nodded her acquiesce and from that point on she watched him carefully, noting all that he did. That way later on she could do the same later on.

Gold removed his suit jacket, his tie, and undid the two top buttons of his dress shirt. His clavicle peaked out, but nothing more. However the dip was perfect for her to swipe her tongue there. _Focus, Belle, focus!_ He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, bearing his forearms. Never before had she seen Gold so _casual_ before. Compared to his usual look, he was practically naked.

 _Don't go there, Belle!_ She felt her face grow hot and hoped that it wasn't obvious.

Gold broke into the box, mixed the solution together in a bottle, and drawing her hair into sections, he squirted the cold gel onto her scalp and her locks. His strong fingertips had a mind of their own, massaging, searching out the areas that made her moan aloud.

 _What would his hands feel like on the rest of me?_ Her eyes closed, they watered at the thought of his deft fingers on her breasts and her nether regions, plucking and teasing her into ecstasy. Gold could show her what she had been missing all of these years of living in celibacy. He could teach her all sorts of things. The bed was not twenty-feet off; it looked comfortable and inviting. Perfect for lovemaking.

Such thoughts shot through her pleasure-filled mind before she could prevent them. Belle quickly exiled such ideas from her head. It was wrong of her to think of Gold that way; he was gay and she needed to be respectful of that.

"So you worked in theater." Belle piped up, hoping to direct her filthy mind and her attention elsewhere. "Did you work on Broadway?"

"I did." Gold said, his brogue thicker than usual.

Her eyes fluttered open and she noticed that his face was flushed and a light sheen of sweat had broken out along his hairline. _Focus on the conversation, not the accent. The accent will get you into trouble._

New York, of course! She would focus on New York! The man had done it all; surely he would have some amazing stories to tell.

"I hear New York is beautiful. I've always wanted to go." Belle said.

Gold dropped the empty bottle in a wastebasket and set the timer for twenty-five minutes. The coloring would have to set awhile. Peeling off the plastic gloves, he laid them in the sink. Turning around, he rested his back end against the counter. "So why don't you? You would enjoy the New York Public Library, no doubt. And all of the sights."

"Maybe I will." Belle shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious due to her inexperience. At thirty, she had never been to New York. For college she went to Boston, but returned afterwards and hadn't ventured very far from Storybrooke since then. Day in, day out, the same thing. Once upon a time she had dreamed of seeing the world, going on adventures, but somewhere along the way those dreams had died and she fell into a very boring routine. "Although, I'd want to share the experience with someone."

In her mind, she would never truly enjoy something unless she enjoyed it with someone she loved.

"Mmhmm." Gold continued to observe her, pinning her down with his narrowed gaze. "Is this makeover for a man?" The Scotsman was direct, if nothing else. Which made her feel a little silly to admit the truth.

"Yes. No. Well…" Belle gulped, now feeling ridiculous; a small town girl on the hunt for a man, but the pawnbroker was known for his shrewd reputation. If she lied, he would know. "Not a specific man, but... I want a husband and children. And what I'm doing right now isn't working. I turned thirty a few days ago. My biological clock is ticking. I want to be thirty, flirty and thriving."

His expression altered, softening the crinkles around his eyes and mouth. She had expected him to laugh or rattle off a sarcastic barb, but he didn't. "To satisfy yourself is one thing, but to make yourself aesthetically pleasing for someone else detracts from who you really are. 'Always be a first rate version of yourself rather than a second rate version of somebody else.' Judy Garland said that."

Belle fidgeted beneath his gaze. "Men don't like real me." She confessed in a small voice.

"Then perhaps you have yet to meet the right man." Gold said as he crossed his arms across his chest.

She frowned. That was her whole point though. _I haven't met the right man because I'm dull as powder. If I were more exciting, flirty, vivacious, the right man would notice me!_ The last thing she wanted was to argue with Gold. After all, he might change his mind about helping her.

"You like Judy Garland?" Belle asked, in an attempt to deflect his attention.

Gold gave a half-shrug. "I grew up listening to her. My aunt loved Judy Garland. Judy Garland came to Glasgow in 1951 and did a concert, as part of her comeback after her fall from grace. My aunt was in the audience and said it was a memory to last her a lifetime."

He proceeded to entertain her with stories of the Judy Garland concert. Belle was soon mesmerized; partly because of his talent at telling a story, and partly because of his sexy burr thickened when he spoke of Scotland. His words caressed her ears like a warm lover. The man used his hands to talk, punctuating his points with a flick of his fingers. He was like a wizard, wielding magic and she was falling further under his spell.

Belle sighed, her spirits plummeting once more. Judy Garland was another sign of Gold's orientation. She had once heard Granny Lucas say more than once that gay men liked Judy Garland.

The more time she spent with Gold, the more she wished that he was straight. And that he liked her. He was clever, articulate, classy…he was her ideal man. Unfortunately, he was cut from a different cloth, and no matter what she wished or how her thoughts strayed to him, she had to respect that.

#

Gold rinsed the coloring out of Belle's hair and toweled dried it. It took a number of snips to have her hair layered though. He wanted to be sure he got the angles right, so that he wouldn't be cutting against the wave, then her hair would curl more naturally. Removing the length freed her tresses of the weight and gave it more body. After drying it, her russet mane fell in waves along her shoulders. The change in color wasn't drastic, but her hair looked richer.

Digging through the bags, he pulled out a handful of items and lined them up on the counter.

He faced her. Belle was watching his every movement. Shy as she was, she was a brave girl, venturing into his house and through his room. The second they bypassed the bed, he regretted not hosting the makeover in the downstairs bath. Having her in such close proximity to the bed was too tempting for a dark mind such as his. More than once he had to rein his thoughts in from imagining Belle sprawled out naked on mussed sheets, casting an innocent smile at him, quirking her little finger for him to join her.

 _Not now, damn it!_ Gold ordered. _Focus!_

"The trick with makeup is that less is always - and I do mean always- best." Gold began, unable to keep the huskiness out of his voice. Hopefully she wouldn't notice. "You want the makeup to enhance your natural beauty. The inner beauty and light is to shine outward. All you will require is foundation, blush, powder, eye shadow, mascara and lipstick." He flicked his index finger to each product. "You can donate the rest of the junk to a clown college."

Belle pressed her lips together. "But I want to look worldly, mature, sexy..."

Gold pinched the bridge of his nose and made a sound of annoyance. He had lost count on the number of actresses who had come to him, begging for the same thing. Like Belle, those ladies missed the point. Makeup didn't make anyone beautiful and couldn't. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

Belle couldn't see her own beauty and that was unfortunate. Hopefully by the time he was through with her, she would realize her own self-worth.

Squeezing the liquid foundation on the sponge, he cupped one side of her face and rubbed the cream into her skin. "You will never look worldly, Miss French, no matter what you put on your face. God only knows why you'd want to." He scoffed.

His heart pounded in his chest; he hoped that she wouldn't detect his rapid pulse through his fingertips. He had been wrong; she was softer than he had imagined. Her blue depths peered up at him, full of innocence. She trusted him; she was too trusting. If she knew what was going through his head…How he wished he could hoist her up into his arms and carry her off to the bed. How he'd give his one good leg – and everything else - to make love to her; he'd prove to her she was beautiful, one way or another.

Her mouth was only inches from his own; soft puffs of her breath tickled his skin. All he had to do was dip his head and he would close that small gap. There was a red spot on her lower lip, from where her teeth made a mark. Lapsing into Gaelic earlier, he hoped she didn't notice his slip up. He'd love nothing more than to nibble and sooth that spot himself.

"You have the classic girl next door look and that is what we are going to play up." Setting the foundation aside, he then picked up the powder compact and a brush. Stirring the beads, he tapped the excess off the bristles and brushed it across the planes of her face. "As for sexy, that is another matter entirely. What is sexy to one person isn't sexy to another. Sexy is subjective. It is more important to feel confident in your own skin and to love yourself."

He couldn't comprehend how she didn't know she was sexy. Her naïveté and her youthful inhibitions were the epitome of her sexuality. Thankfully no one else in this town picked up on that, or else they would use it against her. Bastard that he was, he would keep that piece of information to himself; that way he alone could enjoy it.

His heart nearly melted though when Belle had confessed that she wanted a husband and children. When he heard that, something stirred within him. Years ago, he had wanted the same thing – only in his case he wanted a wife and children. A family. Nothing turned out the way he expected though. He had the house though, complete with a white picket fence. He hoped for Belle's sake that she'd find what she was looking for. Of course he couldn't ignore the voice within him that screamed, _Belle, let me give it to you!_

Once the powder was set on her face, he moved onto the blush. He massaged the brush into the blush palate and blowing off the loose bits, he dusted it along her forehead and cheekbones. "Did your mother never speak to you about such matters?" He asked.

When Belle's eyes began to water, he stilled his hand. _Damn it, what have I done?_ Gold wondered.

Her head lowered and she wrung her hands in her lap. "My mother died when I was ten. Leukemia. My father raised me." She mumbled, her bottom lip beginning to quiver.

"I- I'm sorry. My mother died not long after I was born. No matter how much time has passed, you never quite get over it, do you?" Gold finished lamely, before biting down on his tongue to prevent himself for saying something else idiotic.

"No, you never do." She said.

Gold merely continued on.

 _Fool!_ Moe French was a widower, so of course Belle lacked a mother's influence. Though Gold thought Moe French was ridiculous at times, he knew the man dearly loved his daughter and did his best by her. Even so, Belle missed out on having a woman assure her that she was beautiful and to educate her on feminine subjects. It explained a lot about her.

Gold then applied a light coat of eye shadow and only a flick of mascara. Finally, the lipstick was last. Adding the lipstick was like adding a bow to a beautiful present.

"There, finished." Moving out of the way, he loved hearing her breathy gasp when she saw her reflection. "Well, if your mother were living, she would tell that you are naturally beautiful." He stepped behind her and couldn't resist resting his hands upon her shoulders. "Now take a good, long look at yourself. Bright cornflower blue eyes; soft curving cheeks; full lips; porcelain skin. This is all you require. Anything more and I will take you to clown college myself."

Compared to everyone else he had ever worked on, this endeavor had produced the best results. Then again, Belle was a work of art; his masterpiece. He wanted her to have the best because she deserved it.

"Thank you." Belle swallowed and her eyes looked a little glassy. "I look pretty."

"No, you look beautiful." Gold corrected and to his dismay she still looked unconvinced. "We're going to have to work on that, aren't we?"

Belle nodded feebly. Climbing down from the chair, she turned and suddenly hugged him. "Thank you. This is more than I could ever hope for."

Gold gave her an awkward pat, knowing that if he allowed himself to enjoy her embrace, he'd never let her go. The Beast of Storybrooke never received hugs; no one wanted to touch him, not even with a ten foot pole. But Belle had no fear of him.

Disengaging from her, he backed away and gestured towards the door. "Well, Miss French, go along now. Tomorrow we can see about your apparel."

"But I work tomorrow." Belle protested, her astonishment self-evident. "It's Monday." She reminded him of a schoolgirl who was being dared to play hooky.

"Take the day off. I intend to." Gold responded and he was relieved when she nodded in agreement.

After gathering up her products and bidding him farewell, Belle saw herself out.

Gold took a seat on the side of the tub and buried his face in his hands. That had been the best two hours of his life…and the most torturous. Everything he could have ever wanted was right there, within his grasp.

But like everything else that was good in life, Belle French was off-limits to him. He was too old, too broken down, too jaded. She deserved better. Spending so much time with her, he was only torturing himself, but he couldn't help it. He was a glutton for punishment.

#

Belle parked her car by the curb in front of the flower shop and spent several minutes marveling at herself in the rear view mirror. Gold had worked a miracle; for the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. He insisted that she was and though he was the kind to be brutally honest, she was certain that the man had worked with women far more beautiful than her. Unlike Killian Jones, when Gold hovered close, looking upon her, his fingers fluttering across her cheek, she felt cherished.

Gold often wore a hardened mask, but throughout those two hours, the mask had slipped and his own softness had shown. Other than teasing about the clown make-up that she had bought, he never laughed at her. Not even when she admitted her desire for a husband and children.

Gentle, considerate, kind… Gold was husband material.

Face palming herself, her hand making a squelching noise as it made contact with her forehead, she groaned. _Gay! Gold is gay! Get that through your thick head. He will never want you._

Belle collected the bags from the passenger seat and headed into the flower shop. Crossing through the business part of the building, she hurried up the flight of stairs to their apartment, eager to show off her transformation to her papa.

Her papa must have heard her, because he had abandoned his recliner in their living room and was waiting for her when she reached the top. "Hey, how did it go?" Papa let out a loud gasp and clutched his chest, his face crumbling at the sight. "Oh, you look like your mother."

Belle sniffed, fighting her own tears. To be compared to her mother, a woman who was perfection incarnate, was the highest compliment that she could have received. Rising up on her tiptoes, she kissed her papa's rounded cheek. "Thank you, Papa. You were a genius, suggesting Gold."

"Well, whatever makes my little girl happy." Papa managed a smile before ambling into the kitchen.

Belle didn't join him, knowing that Papa would need a moment alone. Her mother had been gone for over twenty years, but her father was devoted to her memory. He never dated, never looked at another woman, never wanted to. The ring on his finger said it all: Colette had been it for him. More than anything, Belle wanted to find that kind of love.

She carried her bags to her room and remembered to call into work, arranging for her day off.

Gold had said something about apparel, which meant clothing. Unable to recall the last time she went shopping for anything other than the necessities, she couldn't wait until tomorrow. Although she wasn't certain how long it would take for her makeover to be complete, she feared her dealings with Gold would soon come to an end. The thought of going their separate ways pained her.

 _Perhaps I can go to him from time to time…for advice._ Belle considered, sinking down on her bed. She could purchase something hideous and bring it to him; then he'd have to "reeducate" her.

 _The deal!_ Belle shook her head over her own forgetfulness. The completion of her makeover would not be the end of their business. She had made a deal with Mr. Gold, promising to be in his debt. She would have to pay up, of course. No one escaped from making a deal with Gold.

Unlike most of Storybrooke, she didn't want to escape.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Belle used her shoulder and elbow to push open the door of the only boutique in Storybrooke. Her hands were…well, dirty. She had been munching on Cheetos and though she had disposed of the bag in a trash can outside, her fingers were coated with the thick orange residue. Gold's back was to her as she lingered on the sensory mat. She took that moment to suck her digits clean and licked her lips, hoping to hide the fact that she had the eating habits of a ten year old.

When she felt she presentable enough, she moved towards Gold and tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket.

He turned around and nodded politely to her. His golden orbs coldly flitted over her as he was no doubt passing judgement on her.

 _With my luck, I still have an orange ring around my mouth._ Belle managed a sheepish smile.

He clasped his hands over the handle of his cane. "Well, I am very glad that you listened about the makeup."

Belle felt her face heat up. She had to reapply the makeup twice that morning and it still didn't look as good as when Gold had worked his magic. Her unskilled fingers would not cooperate, the colors looked uneven and off-center, but she supposed that practice would make perfect. After all, Gold had been a professional; she couldn't expect herself to be in league with him. Rome wasn't built in a day.

"I hung on your every word, sensei." She teased, with a sly wink.

Gold dipped his head and she heard him mumble something inaudible. He seemed to do that from time to time, which was a little rude, but then again everyone had odd little habits.

A shock of dark black caught her eye. A dress draped on a mannequin beckoned her over. "Ooh, this is flashy."

Belle thumbed the material, it was gauzy, short in the skirt…it would hit her mid-thigh and she would have to be careful not to bend over, else she would show her business to the world. It wouldn't be comfortable to wear, not when she was accustomed to long skirts and sweaters. But the dress was eye-catching and she would turn heads when she walked into a room. Men would finally pay attention to her. Besides, every woman should have a little black dress.

 _This is perfect!_ She bounced from one loafer cushioned foot to another. _I'll finally be sexy! Thirty, flirty and thriving- all the way!_

Gold made a loud noise of disapproval and gently swatted her hands from the garment. "Yes, if you want to be a scantily clad, barfly named Lacey."

Mashing his lips together, a bright red flush flooded his face. She didn't know why he would be so annoyed over a dress. He was the temperamental sort, to be sure, but she had thought that after the afternoon they spent together, that they had reached a better understanding.

"So?" She shrugged. Being a Lacey-kind-of-girl sounded fun and it would be a break in the monotony of her mundane life.

"You said you wanted a husband and children." Gold's fingers flexed across the handle of his cane, his knuckles growing whiter as he tightened his grip. If he squeezed any harder, he would break it in two. "In that you will not be attracting husband material. You want to find a man who looks at you and thinks: 'Now, this is a lady that I would like to be better acquainted with.'" Lifting one of his hands, he dismissed the little black dress with sharp wave. "In that, all you will get is: 'I want to bang the shit out of her.' Understand the difference?"

Belle cringed at his dark words. Gold was trying to help, of course, in the frankest manner possible. A husband and children was her goal; that was her heart's desire. She was tired of being alone and wanted to find True Love more than anything. But she couldn't deny that there was a part of her that wanted to do something wild. Something crazy. She had never been the rebellious sort; she had always got good grades, went to college, got a job, lived responsibly. Yes, she wanted a family of her own, but she also wondered what it would be like to be the hot girl that guys wanted to _bang the shit out of_.

She sighed, promising herself that she'd return another day to buy the dress. When Gold wasn't there to stop her. What Gold didn't know wouldn't hurt him. It would be her own little secret.

Belle turned her back to the mannequin, to imply that she was taking his advice. "All right, then what do you suggest?" She asked cheerfully.

Gold's hand brushed the small of her back as he guided her to a different mannequin. Her back arched and his fingers fit in that spot perfectly. His touch was respectful, yet his fingertips sent shockwaves up and down her spine. Worrying her lower lip, she wondered what it would be like if he _banged the shit out of her_. The image of them rolling around naked in his bed, like a couple of untamed beasts, entered her thoughts unbidden and would not leave, no matter how she tried to banish it from her mind. Good as Gold had been to her, he would be good to her in bed as well. He would be a generous lover…he would teach her things that books never could. Of course in her dark fantasy world, he loved her little black dress and couldn't wait to rip it off of her.

 _Stop it!_ Belle blinked and pressed her thighs together, to ward off the pulsating ache mounting between them. _He's gay! Gold is gay! When are you going to accept that?_ This was result of never really dating or having a boyfriend. Her libido had lain dormant for so long that it was spinning out of control and now she was attracted to someone who she had no chance with.

"Again, we are going to tap into your girl next-door looks." Gold withdrew a sleeveless, blue lace frock from the sales rack. "Consider this: a nod to the 1950s. Wholesome, classic. Blue is your signature color..." He lifted a hand to her cheek and grazed the side of it with his knuckles. "Brings out your lovely eyes."

Belle blinked several times, to prevent her eyes from watering. The black dress was long forgotten and she eagerly grabbed the blue one. His barbs were one thing; he could drive a point home better than anyone she knew. But for Gold to stroke her cheek and speak softly to her, his husky burr thickening, had a hypnotizing effect on her.

She ducked into the fitting room, kicked off her loafers, then she shed her dowdy sweater and matronly skirt. Stepping into the blue frock, she shrugged her arms through the arm holes and was able to tug the zipper mid-way up her back. Though she was opposite of the mirror, she avoided looking into it. She wanted Gold to be present during her first reaction to the dress.

Emerging from the stall, Belle mutely thumbed at her back.

Gold understood, and lifting up her chestnut mane, he drew the zipper up the rest of the way. Nudging her towards a full-length mirror, he gestured to it, prodding her to look at the results.

Belle was amazed. Her transformation wasn't drastic – everything Gold had done was subtle. However, with all of the changes combined, she looked different. Felt different too. Not different from herself, but she had a different perspective.

The blue dress draped over her slight curves perfectly as though it had been made for her. Like a second skin. The color did bring out her eyes and set off her pale skin, and it contrasted beautifully with her new hair color. She looked like a lady, one that a man would want to become better acquainted with.

"There now, beautiful." Gold murmured, hovering behind her, his warm breath tickling her earlobes. "Say it." He urged.

"I'm beautiful." Belle declared, blushing a degree.

Those two words felt odd coming from her, but the longer she studied the new Belle, the more she believed it.

"You are." Gold concurred, his cheek twitching.

Belle turned to face him and drew him into a hug. "Thank you."

His arms loosely encircled her.

#

Gold paced outside the dressing room while Belle tried on several new ensembles. He slumped into a nearby chair, thankful for this moment alone. _Belle is going to be the death of me._ He shook his head, wondering how much longer he could keep his attraction to her a secret. First when she entered the store, he saw her in the mirror sucking some orange powder from her fingers, her quick pink tongue lapping it off. Then she wanted to wear a black dress that left little to the imagination – little to his imagination. And then after she had changed into the first dress, she had him zip her up the rest of the way, of course the arch of her creamy back and her bra was exposed. Not to mention all of the lip biting she was doing, along with her naïve comments, and modeling her clothes before the mirror, checking herself out. Then she hugged him; her heated body rubbed against him, coaxing a certain part of his anatomy to come to life.

He was slipping too, by touching her too much. Then of course there was that comment he made about men who would want to _bang the shit out of her._ He never used such talk; it was distasteful. But he once when he stopped into the Rabbit Hole to collect his rent, he had heard Killian Jones utter those disgusting words. Killian Jones was the kind she would have to watch out for.

Had she insisted on trying that black dress on, Gold would have dropped dead of a heart attack. She would have been gorgeous in it; sexy as hell; but men in general would get the wrong idea and take advantage of her. Hell, he was getting the wrong idea just imagining her in it, and he was her friend!

Belle seemed none the wiser of his feelings, but she was a smart girl, she would figure it out soon enough. She would be appalled, no doubt. That he used their time together to further his own warped fantasies about her. But that was all he had…fantasies. As long as he kept it under control and to himself, he wasn't hurting her.

Gold snapped to attention when Belle appeared once more before him, spinning around, showing off her latest selection. A pink frock with a sweetheart neckline, one that accentuated her bust. Her hips swayed to the bouncy tune playing in the store. All he could think of was grabbing her by the hand, leading her back into the fitting room, and take her against the wall.

Briefly closing his eyes, he pressed his fingertips to one of his temples. _Focus, Gold, focus!_

Belle stood before him, her hands clasped together. "Have you decided on the favor? The one that I owe you?" She reminded him.

"All in due time, my dear." He braced his hands against the armrests and pushed himself upwards.

"Won't you tell me what it is?"

Gold shook his head slightly. True be told, he had no idea what he wanted from her. Oh, he had his _what if_ scenarios, but he would never voice those. That he had her company and had free reign to touch her, albeit in a platonic way, was reward enough. He would have to come up with something though; if only to prove to the rest of Storybrooke that he wasn't going soft.

"Patience is a virtue, wouldn't you say?" He asked, evading her question.

"Do- do you have someone? Someone to love?" Belle asked, placing her hand on his forearm.

He was wearing a long sleeve dress shirt and a suit jacket over that, and he could feel her palm burn straight through both layers.

The question came out of nowhere. Whenever they spoke of dating or love or marriage, it had always been in reference to her. His past had been off-limits. No one in Storybrooke knew about him and he liked it that way. He liked being the mysterious Beast who ruled over Storybrooke with an iron fist. But this girl, with her innocent questions and naïve ideas, her bright blue eyes gazing up at him, he wanted her to know everything. Even the shameful, embarrassing, sad stories. How he had fallen hard for Milah and how she had used him as a stepping stone into the theater world. How she shagged everyone and their brother to get ahead, laughing behind his back, then ran off with a leading man.

Belle surely wouldn't judge him for that. She would understand why he had to leave that life, and begin anew.

"I did. It's why I left the theater world." He managed a rueful smile. "Things were not always what they seemed to be. If someone can act, then they can pretend to be anything they want to be."

"And that is why you believe in being true to yourself." Belle said.

"Of course. Don't you?" Gold didn't want to keep bringing up Judy Garland's quote, but he would if he had to. His aunt had drilled that quote into him as a lad. In many ways it had become his life's mantra.

Gold met her gaze, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in those deep blue depths. She wetted her lips, her tongue peeped out. Unable to fight it any longer, he inclined his head, starving to sample a taste of her. A quick brush of the lips…

"Hey Gold, we still on for Friday?" Jefferson's jovial tone seemed to ricochet throughout the shop as he approached.

Gold recoiled, mentally cursing his friend for interrupting what was quite possibly the most important moment of his life.

Belle's brow furrowed, but she didn't seem repulsed by his near slip-up. Perhaps – dare he even hope- she felt something for him and wouldn't be opposed to his suit.

Unfortunately Jefferson had to spoil it all.

Jefferson noticed Belle and laid his palm on his chest. "Oh, my apologies. Now who's this?"

"Belle French meet Jefferson Madden." Gold ground the words out through his gritted teeth.

"Nice to meet you." Belle offered him her hand.

Jefferson being Jefferson, gave an exaggerated bow and planted a kiss on her knuckles, which elicited a giggle from Belle. "Enchante, mademoiselle. Gold, where have you been hiding this one?"

A demure smile bloomed across Belle's face.

 _I'll kill him. All I need is five minutes._ Gold was fuming. Jefferson was stealing his Belle! _She doesn't belong to you, idiot._ Belle never belonged to him and she never would. He was a fool to have even thought that she might be remotely interested. Of course Belle would prefer Jefferson. Jefferson was the tall, dark and handsome type, with a winning smile to boot. He had a charming personality, which would no doubt attract someone like Belle, who was goodness personified.

"In my lair." Gold hissed, unable and unwilling to keep the rage at bay.

Glimpsing at the mirror, he grimaced at the image of the three of them. Belle and Jefferson complemented each other. They were young and beautiful. After all, beautiful people ended up with beautiful people. He, on the other hand, was old, washed up, crippled with a dark reputation and even darker personality. No one could ever love him, especially not Belle.

"Yes, we're on for Friday." Gold replied, remembering that Jefferson was to bring over some of his newest creations for him to purchase and showcase in his shop. "Now go away." He nodded to the door.

Jefferson's brow lifted. "Ah, gotcha, Goldie." He winked. "Belle, it has been a pleasure. See you later." He blew them a kiss and swaggered off.

 _Yes, I'm going to kill him._ Gold vowed. _How could such an incorrigible ass raise such as a nice little girl such as Grace?_

Belle folded her arms across her stomach. "What kind of plans do you have?" she asked.

"Nothing important." Gold waved the question off, in hopes of directing her attention back to shopping, and away from Jefferson. Taking her by the elbow, he led her to the shelved wall of shoes. "Now, let's move onto shoes and handbags. Oh, and jewelry. We can't forget that."

Minutes ago he wanted to prolong their time together, now he wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

#

Belle returned home hours later, loaded down with bags, upon bags of clothing, shoes, hats, jewelry. As a librarian, her salary was modest, but since her graduation, she lived at home. She had never traveled or made extravagant purchases. She had a nice little nest egg tucked away; so tapping into it this one time wouldn't hurt any.

Papa helped her carry in her new items, requiring several trips out to the car, through the shop, and up the stairs to their apartment. Once they had everything piled onto her bed, Belle released a sigh.

Her Papa was staring at her again, his eyes growing watery. _Poor Papa; he's puddling._ Swallowing, he mustered out, "You look wonderful."

Belle had worn one of her new outfits home; a lacy, pale blue short-sleeved blouse and black pencil skirt. She wasn't quite used to her new look, but she did feel more confident and when she entered the room, she commanded everyone's attention.

Balling his fists, he rubbed his eyes dry. "Seeing you so happy is worth being in Gold's debt."

Belle winced; she had forgotten to tell him that she had made the deal. But perhaps it was better this way, now her father could not try to prevent it. "Papa, you're not in his debt. I am." She corrected.

"No, you don't know what he is capable of." Papa covered his mouth in horror. "Who knows what he might demand of you?"

Belle rolled her eyes. The more time she spent with Gold, the more she wondered how anyone could think badly of him. Yes, he was a business man and a very shrewd one at that, but he was also intelligent, driven, passionate, strong, funny – not to mention, wickedly handsome. He was not like the boys she had known at college or the ones that ran around Storybrooke. They were just that – boys. Gold was a man. And he was her friend. She wouldn't allow anyone to speak ill of him.

"Gold has been a perfect gentleman." Belle disagreed, shaking her head from side to side. "He's been very complementary and he's even helped me understand a few things."

In two afternoons, Gold had been able to chip away at her insecurities and rebuild her confidence. She didn't want their time together to end.

Yet after they bumped into Jefferson at the boutique, Gold seemed eager to finish up and go home.

 _Jefferson._ Belle blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. Jefferson had been nothing but kind to her, unabashedly teasing her in a playful manner, but he was another confirmation that Gold was gay. Jefferson was Gold's lover or boyfriend or significant other. Whatever they called it these days. They had plans Friday night, which was a date night for most couples. If Jefferson hadn't shown up when he did, Belle would have made a fool of herself.

She and Gold had been discussing love and being true to one's self, and he leaned in to whisper something to her. Had Jefferson not interrupted, she would have thrown herself into Gold's arms and kissed him senselessly. Back him into the chair, sit on his lap, and let loose on him. While she knew very little of his lifestyle, she knew he would not appreciate her pathetic attempts to turn him.

"The truth is, I like Gold." Belle confessed, bringing her fingertips to her forehead. "I mean, I know he's gay, but I wish he weren't."

Papa nodded knowingly. He knew what it was to love someone and not be able to have them. "Just be careful, pumpkin." He dipped down and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"I will." Belle promised.

But it was too late, she never had a chance. She had already lost her heart to Mr. Gold.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Belle killed the engine of the car and checked her reflection once more in the rear view mirror. She didn't recognize the woman that stared back. Gold had worked hard on her transformation and though she appreciated the sweet, girl-next door image he had created for her, she wanted to deviate from that. Just for a night. Guilt prickled at her conscience, but she attempted to shrug it off.

The day after their shopping trip, Belle returned and purchased that racy little black dress, the one Gold had adamantly opposed. She waited until her father turned in, at nine o'clock, before donning on the little number and applying more dramatic, darker colors to her makeup palate. Drawing up her hair in a mussed up, side pony-tale and stepping into five inch heels, she decided that she looked "hot."

Belle feigned a smile, but noted that the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. The joy that they bore when Gold had worked his magic, was absent now. _Thirty, flirty and thriving!_ She reminded herself. She loved what Gold had done and would return to that look tomorrow, but since he was clearly uninterested in her, she didn't see the harm in having this as her nighttime look.

Belle emerged from the car and nearly stumbled as she closed the door. The heels were like stilts, and since she was not used to walking in them, she wobbled to and fro like a toddler. Grasping the hem of her skirt, she tugged it down past her rear and advanced towards the Rabbit Hole.

Entering the bar, she wrinkled her nose at the stench of cheap liquor mixed with smoke and sweat. The singer on the jukebox chanted, "It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes…" The floor was sticky and her heels clopped as she made her way inside. Her arm felt bare without a purse hanging from it, but hot girls had no need for purses or money because guys bought them drinks. That was how it worked.

The bawdy chatter intensified and she heard a few whistles and catcalls hurled at her. Rather than feeling flattered, Belle felt like she needed a shower. _Gold wouldn't act like that._ But then again, Gold was cut from a different cloth.

"Well, hello there-" A familiar Irish toned voice drawled. Killian Jones swaggered before her, his shirt hanging open, once more exposing his chest and his chest hair. He reminded her of a woman who liked to flash her cleavage. His mouth swung open and his eyes narrowed and it took him a minute before he could place her. "Belle French?"

He licked his lips and Belle fought the urge to cover herself as he looked her up and down.

 _At least I am finally drawing attention._ Belle wrinkled her nose and wished that it had been someone else who had noticed her. But ever since Killian had approached her, the others kept their distance, as though he had staked his claim.

"Y-yes. How's the computer?" Belle scanned the room, in hopes of catching someone else's eye, but no one came to her rescue. "Remember, you have to update it-"

"It's fine, though not as fine as you." He wiggled his thick brows at her. His tongue was twisting, lolling about in his wide open mouth, like a slippery eel. "Wanna dance, love?"

 _Dance?_ She supposed one dance wouldn't hurt, then hopefully someone else would cut in and Killian would leave her alone.

"Um...okay." Belle shrugged nonchalantly.

Turning towards the dance floor, her heart nearly stopped. Couples were rubbing themselves, grinding their most personal areas against each other, groping and moaning wantonly. An unbidden image of her and Gold flickered through her mind and she shook her head to dismiss it. She'd love nothing better than to do something like that with him, albeit in the privacy of his magnificent master bedroom. Which would no doubt lead to proper, passionate love making.

But to grind with Killian or some other strange man, was incomprehensible to her.

Belle allowed herself to be guided to the edge of the dance floor, before jerking away from Killian. "I-I've changed my mind. I can't do that." She thrust her finger at the couples' jaunty movements.

She fled to the bar and took a couple deep breaths, scolding herself for being too skittish. _This is what people do!_ After all, how did she expect to meet anyone if she never left her comfort zone? No one was beating down the door to be with the boring bookworm. If she ever wanted to find the right man – or any man for that matter – she would have to search them out.

"Sure you can, love." Killian appeared at her side, his hot breath came out in pants. "Get a couple drinks in you, it'll loosen you up." He placed his hands on her shoulders and stroked. "You're wound too tight."

Belle detached herself from him and waved at the bartender.

"What can I get you?" the man asked.

Her mind went blank. She was not much of a drinker, except for wine, so she wasn't sure what drink would be appropriate for a bar setting.

"Um, a beer." She finally decided.

Killian hopped up on one of the barstools.

Tapping the toe of her shoe, Belle could sense a flurry of nervousness building in her chest. Despite her attempts to fight it, her hands began to tremor.

Someone let out a whoop, which made her jump and sway to the side. Killian's octopus-like arms encircled her waist and he attempted to draw her into his lap.

Belle panicked and slammed the heel of her hand down, on something that was thick but squishy. She scrambled away and gasped as Killian fell off the barstool and onto the floor. He cupped his privates as he writhed in pain.

Her nervousness always led to clumsiness and though she hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, she couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction, for hitting Killian where it counted.

The room howled with laughter, as Killian wailed.

"Sorry." Belle apologized to the bartender, hoping that he wouldn't call the police on her because she had gotten into a physical altercation. "This was a mistake."

She staggered outside and in her eagerness she collided with someone. The clank of metal on the sidewalk made her cringe. Squatting, she retrieved…a cane!

 _Oh, not now!_ Belle came face to face with Mr. Gold and wished that she could dig a hole and drop in. The person she liked most in the world was now witnessing her at her lowest point. Handing him his cane, she wished that she could run away, but she could barely walk in her heels, let alone run. And abandoning such an expensive pair of shoes was out of the question.

"Belle?" Gold exclaimed, snatching his cane from her. The street was dimly lit, but she could detect his reddened face. "What is this? This is foolishness, dangerous-"

Gold was disappointed in her. The man she liked – perhaps even loved – was disappointed in her. _Wait…love?_ Belle wanted nothing more than to flee to the safety of her room and have a good cry. Of course it was love! She allowed him to critique and give her a new look, not only because she respected and valued his opinion, but because her attraction to him had begun to develop into love. Gold was smart, classy, funny, thoughtful and handsome…How could she not love him?

Not that her love would make a bit of difference to him, he was still gay and had a boyfriend.

But the man she loved now thought she was ridiculous!

Belle's lower lip quivered. "I am grown woman. If I want to go to a bar at midnight… or ten o'clock, I can!"

By the rest of the world's standards, it wasn't even late and only then did it occur to her how ridiculous she was being. There she was, shivering outside of a bar, in a skimpy black dress, standing in five inch heels. She had wanted to do something wild and crazy, but she only made herself look like a fool.

"Maybe this is who I really am." Belle persisted, shivering. The cool air crept up under her short skirt, but she couldn't give up now. "You can't control me!" She stamped her foot and heard a snap. Her heel broke and it pitched her forward.

Gold caught her and steadied her before she fell onto the concrete. She met his gaze and was relieved to find no condemnation there. Only concern. "Belle, what is this really about?" He sounded gentler than before.

Her resolve broke and the tears fell when he cradled her cheek. _I am such an idiot!_ The more she cried, she knew, the more her makeup ran. Nothing in her life was going the way she planned.

Gold stroked away some of the tears and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" He slid off his suit jacket and placed it on her shoulders, no doubt an attempt to cover her. "Here, come along."

Belle didn't budge, feeling too embarrassed to follow him.

"Come now." He slid his arm around her waist and drew her close.

Belle nodded and leaning upon him, whilst he leaned upon his cane, she limped along in sync with him. They made quite a pair.

#

While Belle was in the bathroom in the back of his shop, Gold saw to fixing tea. He could hear her sniffing in there and though he wanted to console her, he needed a few minutes to himself to calm down. When he had bumped into the street, he nearly swallowed his tongue. The silly girl had gone back to boutique and about that black dress – which barely covered her derriere - and dared to wear it at a dive bar. He drilled her when they got to his car, and thank God nothing terrible happened to her there, other than her crushing Killian Jones' family jewels.

 _I would have paid big money to have seen that._ Gold snickered as he removed the squealing kettle off of the burner. Draining the water into a pot, he managed to carry the tea tray out to a small table he had been refinishing. Scooting in a couple of chairs, he bit down on his tongue when Belle emerged from the bathroom.

Her face had been scrubbed clean, her hair was down, but she was still wearing that black dress that left little to his imagination. The swell of her breasts, the curves of her hips, her undergarments were outlined perfectly in the dress. He'd love nothing better than to rid her of it and take her on the nearby cot that he used when he stayed overnight. Or the display case! Lay her out there and let her be on display for him!

Belle took a seat in one of the chairs, tugging on the hem of her skirt, depriving him of the lovely view.

Gold turned away, his fingers fumbling as he prepared her a cup of tea. When it was ready, he handed it to her, urging, "Drink this. Things never seem quite as bleak after a cup of tea."

Belle accepted it and sipped on the brew. Her eyes grew glassy and he knew she was about to break down again.

Gold saw to his own cup and probed gently, "Talk to me."

"I'm thirty." Belle said simply, as if those two words alone could explain her recent erratic behavior. Perhaps she detected his bewildered expression and pitied him, because she continued, "I've never done anything brave, or wild, or silly. I've never had a serious boyfriend. I'm not married and I don't have children. I've never traveled or seen the world. I live at home with my father. And I'm thirty."

Gold sat down next to her, cradling his own cup in his hands. He took a swig, hoping that the minimal amount of caffeine would inspire him to give good advice. But he was at a loss as to how to give her comfort.

He ended up settling for: "You're young, you have plenty of time for all that."

"No, no I don't!" Her face crumbled and he winced when she plunked the tea cup down hard, fearing that it would shatter. It stayed intact though, proving to be Belle-proof. "I'm behind." Belle frantically brushed away her tears and more began to fall. "Most women my age are onto their second or third child. They're married and have successful careers. And they have done things."

Gold closed his eyes briefly in realization. _Why didn't I see it before?_ He had gone through something similar years ago, though it wasn't triggered by his thirtieth birthday. When his relationship with Milah ended, his personal life was in shambles, and his career in the theater no longer made him happy, he had been desperate to leave it all and begin anew. And he did. He merely packed up, aimlessly chose a place on the map to move to –which turned out to be Storybrooke – and left in the dead of night.

Belle was having her own version of a mid-life crisis. He had never considered that women went through it too, but now couldn't see why not. It was the 21st century, but society still placed certain expectations on women. A town as small and as backwards as Storybrooke, no doubt contributed to her insecurities. He understood what it was to not measure up.

"You can't measure your success or achievements by someone else's." Gold put his cup down next to hers, albeit far more gently and scooted his chair closer to hers. "We move at different paces. What is right for one person, may not be right for another. Do you know how many times I had to start over? Three times. And being thirty, that is a number." Unable to stop himself, he caressed the side of her jaw. He needed to stop touching her so often, but she was so beautiful and soft and good that he feared that if he didn't check to make certain she was real, that he would find out he had imagined her and she'd vanish. "You are not at the finishing line; you are in your prime. All right?"

Belle blinked several times and nodded. "All right. Thank you for listening."

"My pleasure. But no more of this Racy Lacey business." Gold withdrew his hand and teasingly shook his finger at her. "Having adventures is fine, but not at a dive bar."

A genuine smile broke out on her face, followed by a youthful giggle. "I promise."

Gold studied her, memorizing every little feature of hers, knowing that their time together would soon come to an end. _I can't do it. I can't part ways with her._ He had sworn to never pursue her romantically, that being allowed to spend some time with Belle and freely touch her would be enough to whet his appetite. But it wasn't. Now he was starving for more. There was no doubt in his mind that he was falling in love with her. Were he a better man, he would leave her be.

But he wasn't a good man. He had always been a selfish bastard and loved having his own way. This was no different. _I want a chance to court her._ However, Belle had only come to him for help with a make-over, not because she was interested in him. Had she reciprocated his feelings, she wouldn't have gone off to a dive bar to catch a man there. Even so, he still wanted an opportunity; then if she was still indifferent, he'd leave her alone.

 _The deal!_ Belle still owed him and though it was crass of him to use that as a means to ask her out, it was his only way in.

"By the by, I've decided on the favor and I am cashing in." Gold informed her, somewhat coolly. No need to sound desperate, even though he was.

Her eyes grew large and she leaned into him. "Oh. What is it?"

Gold trained his eyes on her innocent face. The more she leaned in, the better view he had of her cleavage, but he didn't want to take advantage of her naivety just to get a better glimpse of her lovely breasts. "Dinner this Friday night." He held up his index finger and motioned it between them. "You and me."

"What about Jefferson?" Tilting her head to the side, Belle's brow creased as she reminded him. "You have plans with him."

"Nothing set in stone. We can reschedule." Gold shrugged.

Jefferson would understand; he was a man about town after all. He had his pick of the ladies.

 _This is my only chance at happiness._ Gold picked up his cup again and took a drink, hoping to calm his nerves.

"All right." Belle bit her lower lip and nodded and reached for her own cup. After a sip, she declared, "I'll wear one of my new dresses."

Gold swallowed a groan as he watched her chew on her lip, yearning to replace her teeth with his own and plunder her mouth. "Can't wait to see you in it." He croaked out.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Killian sauntered into the library. His chest puffed out when he spied the little librarian by the circulation desk. _I'm nothing if not persistent._ A saucy smile spread across his devilishly handsome face as he strutted over. Belle French had humiliated him the other night, but he was not about to give up. He couldn't allow some mousy, little bookworm to get the best of him. It would be detrimental to his reputation.

He liked a challenge and never took "no" for an answer. Once he got what he wanted from her, he'd move on to his next conquest. Belle would learn her lesson and never cross him again.

"Hey, love!" His leather encased thighs squelched as he stood before her. The lavender scent of her made him harden; he'd have to get out these pants and into hers quick before he damaged himself.

Belle swung around, depriving him the wonderful view of her ass. "Belle, my name is Belle!" She stomped her foot, clearly flustered. Poor thing wasn't used to a real man's attentions.

Flirting with her was easier now that she was no longer plain. She had made some monumental changes, for him no doubt, and he was fairly satisfied with the outcome. Belle had looked better the other night though, in that black dress and the dark makeup. No longer hiding that hot bod beneath thick, ugly clothing, he couldn't wait to get her into bed, leave his mark, and move on. Never before had a woman resisted his charms for so long.

"Yeah, I know." Killian winked at her and then tugged on his earlobe. The ladies loved that little quirk of his. Along with his clever tongue. "I was thinking-"

"Don't hurt yourself." Belle muttered, rolling her eyes.

Killian furrowed his brow. "Huh?" He shook his head, unwilling to believe that he heard her correctly. "Me and you should go out. This Friday."

"No. I have plans." Belle dismissed him with a wave. Hoisting a stack of books into her arms, she staggered on her high heels towards a large cart. Adding them to a growing collection of books, he could have sworn she wrinkled her nose at him.

"Cancel 'em. We'll have a good time." Killian hurried to her and cupped her shoulder, wondering if he could get by with slipping his hand a little lower and squeeze her boob. He'd never banged anyone in a library before, but it was empty and there was a first time for everything. "I liked you awhile now, even before you got pretty. Come on, love-"

Eyes blazing, Belle knocked his hand aside. The crack against his fingers made him wince. "No! Look, I'm not interested in you. I don't even like you; you make me really uncomfortable. You make my skin crawl!" She circled around the cart, snarling, "Leave me alone."

 _Damn, she's hot when she's angry!_ Killian sniggered. _Angry sex is the best kind._ He took a step to the side to block her from escaping from him. "Love-"

He never got to finish the sentence.

Belle let out an "oh" and slumped against the cart. The force of her weight somehow toppled it over, books and all.

Killian brought up his hands to shield himself from the avalanche of books that slammed down on him, which was soon followed by the cart itself. He blacked out for a moment, especially when one particularly heavy volume dropped on his already sensitive balls.

Letting out a barrage of curses, he squirmed out from beneath the pile of books and the cart.

Belle crept around the mess, limping on a broken shoe. She made no movement to help him, but did have the good graces to look sheepish for assaulting him. "Oh my gosh, I didn't mean-"

Killian dragged himself up off the floor and scrambled away from her, lest she do him more bodily harm. The other night, at the Rabbit Hole, he had assumed that when she hit him in the nuts and knocked him off the barstool, that she was just being clumsy. A simple accident. Or playing hard-to-get. But now he saw through her plan…the librarian was trying to kill him! She had drawn him in, using her feminine wiles, got cheap thrills torturing him, and then acted all innocent about it. There were names for girls like her.

 _I like games, but this is beyond me!_ Some women were a lost cause. He had bigger fish to fry, ones that would not hurt him in return. Belle French would be someone else's problem, he was done with her.

"You didn't have to get violent again!" Killian held up his hands in surrender and sprinted towards the exit. "I'll leave you alone, okay?"

He stumbled out into the street and ambled his way back to his ship. _I need a bag of ice in the worst way._ He would spent the rest of the day coaxing his "first mate" back to life and by nightfall he'd be back in working order and have a new bed buddy to bring home.

#

Gold cursed when the bell above his shop door chimed, letting him know he had a customer. He never begrudged making a sale, but often enough people wandered in to window-shop, and those that did select something to purchase, would try to talk him down in price, only to leave with their noses out of joint. Which was a complete waste of his time.

Setting down his tools on the work table, he abandoned the antique clock and emerged from the back of his shop.

Gold found Jefferson checking out his reflecting in a mirror, adjusting the plumb top hat, one of his newest creations, on his head. The more Jefferson created, the more eccentric his creations became. Gold didn't quite understand the appeal; he wasn't a hat person, but the ladies loved them and they turned a decent profit.

"Glad you're here." Gold blurted out without properly greeting his friend. Jefferson was used to his peculiar ways that bordered on rudeness and never held it against him. Then again, his friend was also odd, so he had no room to judge. "Friday night is not going to work."

"Why?" Jefferson swiveled around and frowned.

It had become a sad tradition. Grace would go to her mother's on Fridays to spend the weekend with her, and Jefferson would drop by the shop to show off his latest hats, and he and Jefferson would drink a bottle until it was drained dry. Gold hated to cancel, it was bad business, but figured that if Jefferson had a chance to go out with a girl as lovely as Belle; Jefferson would drop him…like a hat.

"I have a date." Gold confessed, averting his eyes, focusing on his tremoring hands that cradled his cane. The mere mention of it sent him into a dither; God only knew what shape he was only to be like on the actual date.

"Really?" Jefferson strutted to the counter, folded his arms and leaned down on top of the smoother surface. Peering up into Gold's face, he grinned. "Oh, the girl I saw you with at the boutique. You go, Gold."

Heat flooded his cheeks. "Yes. Well, it's actually dinner out as a fulfillment of a deal." He hedged, but heaved a roll of his eyes. He sounded ridiculous; like a boy who got caught passing a note to the prettiest girl in school and denied it. "But, I want to ask Belle out officially. If she's interested. I mean, I think she is."

Belle had accepted the terms the deal, which was going out on a date with him. Technically the word "date" wasn't used, but there could be no mistaking his intentions. Even so, he had taken the coward's way out. Rather than openly declaring his feelings for her, he fell back on their agreement as a means into coercing her to go out with him. It was petty and wrong. Were he a good man, he would have given her the opportunity to turn him down, rather than back her into a corner.

 _But I'm not a good man. I'm a bastard._ Gold reasoned and then scolded himself for using such a paltry excuse. Yes, he was a bastard, through and through, but Belle deserved the best. He needed to be the best man that he could be for her. And that meant casting aside his deals and the mask he wore to protect himself. He needed to be honest and if she didn't like the real Gold, then he had to accept that and move on.

Dragging a hand through his shaggy crop of hair, he scratched his scalp. His frown deepened. "Damn. I should have forgone the deal and just asked her out."

"Maybe. But Belle, she's a smart girl; she has to know you like her." Jefferson shrugged and held up his index finger. "You went shopping with her, held her bags and all of that crap. Guys don't do that unless they've really got it bad. And you seem to have it the worst."

Gold nodded. "True."

Jefferson had made a good point. None of the men he knew willingly shopped with their wives or girlfriends. Yeah, it had been part of their agreement and though he risked hearing her complain about how ugly or fat or terrible she was, followed by breakdowns in the dressing rooms, none of that happened. He had spent the perfect afternoon with Belle, watching her model clothes for him, and they talked of personal matters. He came close to kissing her, tasting her pretty little mouth. Jefferson interrupted that sweet moment. After the incident at the Rabbit Hole he spent the evening consoling her with tea, trying not to mentally undress her while she wore that skimpy dress - only then did he ask her out.

Belle had to know of his feelings for her. She had to. There was no mistaking it.

"It's been, well, forever since I've dated." Gold twisted his mouth into a scowl. Loath to disclose such personal information, he had to speak to someone about it. Inching forward, he confessed. "Fifteen years."

No, it had been longer than that. He and Milah had been together five years, so it had been twenty years since he had dated. Not that he was going to correct himself. Twenty years was worse than fifteen. Twenty years made him sound like an old man, which he was.

Fifteen years was bad enough.

Fifteen years since he discovered what a harpy Milah was, sleeping around behind his back, shagging everyone and their brother to get to the top. Fifteen years since their marriage ended and he divorced her. Fifteen years since he came to Storybrooke to begin anew. Fifteen years of voluntary celibacy, in which he never gave a woman a second glance, including those few desperate women who sought to proposition him to wriggle out of a deal. Never wanted to. Kept his distance from all.

Until Belle. He had acquired their shop building from its previous owner and only a chance encounter one day awakened him from his stupor. She had been wearing an oversized cardigan and a dowdy skirt that did nothing for her shapely legs; her hair had been severely drawn back and she looked…well, a little sad.

Then she turned her luminescent blue eyes up at him and he was a goner.

But fifteen years…he was out of practice. The dating game was different now. There were new rules and he was old fashioned in many ways. Women were more independent now; they were more forward, far more evolved than he was.

Jefferson took a step back and let out a shrill whistle. "Wow. You're practically a virgin again. Well, take your cue from her. Let her set the pace. I mean, that's what I'd do."

Gold never asked Jefferson what his orientation was. Honestly, he preferred not to know. He had always viewed sexuality as a private matter…at least his sexuality had always been a private matter. Jefferson had been married before, to Grace's mother, but that relationship ended badly. He dated some, but never said who. Not that it mattered. Jefferson's advice still applied.

 _Jefferson's right. Let Belle take the lead._ Gold nodded absentmindedly. Belle would decide how fast things would develop between them and knowing that she was comfortable, it would put him at ease. He had never been the aggressive sort. Milah had complained numerous times that he moved at a snail's pace and had to be the one to take initiative. Then she gave up on him completely.

"Good luck, man." Jefferson reached over and cuffed him on the shoulder.

"Thanks. I'm sure I'll need it." Gold drummed his fingernails on the counter top. A plan was forming in his mind, of where they could go and how he would behave and what they could talk about.

 _I can do this._ Gold assured himself.

He had worked in the theater, on Broadway; he had his world crumble and he had a failed marriage. He had seen the worst and lived to tell. One date shouldn't break him. Then again, there was nothing more daunting than true love.

"So you're going to give me details, right?" Jefferson propped his arm up and settled his chin in the palm of his hand. "I mean, after the big date. C'mon, I'm not dating anyone right now. I need something to keep me afloat."

Gold shook his head and returned to the back room, calling out over his shoulder. "Good bye, Jefferson."

He did owe Jefferson for being a good sounding board; however that didn't mean he was going to divulge intimate details of his date.

Gold made a mental note to order Grace that American Girl doll that Jefferson said she had her eye on. That'd make it even between them.

#

Belle blotted her lips on a tissue and stood back, surveying her work in the bathroom mirror. Her technique had improved a vast deal, although she wasn't as good as Gold. He had an artist's touch, so she had to reconcile herself to the fact that she would never be as good as him. But she did look and feel beautiful.

The pink sweetheart dress molded to her frame perfectly. It had been one of the outfits that she had modeled for Gold, one that he clearly favored. One single appraising glance from him sent shock waves through her. He could do more to her in a single glance than an idiot like Killian could with all of his smooth words and cocky swagger.

Belle giggled. Killian got his just desserts the last time he was in the library. He had been chasing her around a small bookshelf when her heel broke yet again and she slammed into the shelf, knocking it over on him. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but at least he was no longer harassing her. The only thing she could regret was that she broke the same heel that she had broken on the evening of her trip to the Rabbit Hole. It seemed no amount of repair could fix the blasted thing!

 _Well, at least I didn't sprang my ankle._ Belle filed her makeup away in the bag and then put it in the cabinet, grabbed her purse. She headed down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Papa was munching on handfuls of peanuts, tossing them back into his mouth. Her mother told her that before they married, Papa lived off of peanut butter, peanuts, cheese and baloney. Since her mother passed, he had introduced eggs into his diet, but if Belle didn't monitor him closely, he would easily revert back to his bachelor days.

Belle sighed. What was going to come of him when she did meet someone, marry and move out? Oh, she would have to check in on him regularly, invite him over for meals, and such. Guilt festered deep in the pit of her stomach. There was a part of her that didn't want to leave him. She couldn't live at home forever, but… he still needed her. Just as much as she needed him.

"You look beautiful." Papa swallowed his last few peanuts and clapped his plump hands gleefully. "Who's the lucky man?"

"Mr. Gold." Belle knew the apples of her cheeks were pink, and not only from the blush she had applied. Whenever she thought of Gold these days, she blushed. Of course most of her musings of him were hardly innocent. "He wanted me to take him out to dinner as a fulfillment of our deal."

"Really?" Papa harrumphed and made a face. "That's strange. Did he say why?"

"No. But it'll be nice to go out." Belle shrugged, attempting to sound and feel indifferent.

Gold's request had been an odd one, for her to treat him out to a meal. Their dinner replaced the date he had with Jefferson, and Gold was unconcerned that he ditched his boyfriend for her. It seemed entirely simple…Too simple, really.

Gold had gone above and beyond in regards to her makeover, and all that he wanted in return was dinner. She owed him so much more, especially after the debacle at the Rabbit Hole and her childish temper tantrum. He escorted her back to his shop and listened patiently as she bemoaned her troubles. The man understood her plight and gave her advice. Somehow he made her situation seem less dire.

Since he requested dinner out, Belle found herself fantasizing about it, imaging that it was a real date. That they would go somewhere special, eat spaghetti, drink wine, talk into the late hours of the night, and then go back to that salmon color house to test out that magnificent bed of his. The short glimpses she got of it led her to believe that it was sturdily built and would support their weight as they imbibed into all sorts of antics. His artistic fingers that had dabbled in blushes and powders could be put to better use, searching out her more intimate parts, teasing her into a frenzy. She'd have to confess that she had never been with any one before and Gold would understand and go easy on her. He'd make her first time magical. And after that, it would get wild…

Papa coughed into his fist, jolting her awake from her dirty little daydream.

Belle gulped, scolding herself for letter that one get away from her. In front of her father, no less! _Save it for tonight!_ She pressed her thighs together.

"It can be a practice first date for when I go out with someone else." She put in, wincing at how shaky her voice was. Gold wasn't even there and he was turning her on!

Papa grasped her shoulder and gave her a knowing look. "Pumpkin, you really like Gold, don't you?"

"Yeah, but it's not meant to be." Belle nodded miserably.

Jefferson was a lucky man and for two scents worth, she'd corner him and tell him so.

Tonight would be difficult, but she would find a way to get through it. The dinner would mark the end of their collaboration and might be a bittersweet way for them to part ways. Then she could try to find someone just as wonderful as Gold…only he'd be straight.

"You'll find the one, I promise." Papa assured her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "And after all of this waiting, it will have been worth it."

Belle hoped that he was right; that the best was yet to come.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Belle mumbled her thanks as she sat down in the chair that Gold had pulled out for her. He scooted her in and then took his place across from her and flashed a toothy grin. While Gold ordered a wine, she fumbled with her cloth napkin, spreading it out on her lap.

Cloth napkins, genuine silver silverware, pricey wines and Ella Fitzgerald crooning in the background! Belle swallowed, wishing her throat and her chest didn't feel so tight. She had brought her credit and she had plenty in savings, but she hadn't expected Gold to choose some place so expensive as his payment for their deal.

But a deal was a deal. She wasn't about to balk about it.

Gold eyed her and leaned in. "Are you uncomfortable? We can go somewhere else."

The man missed nothing. How she thought she could hide her unease from him was beyond her. He looked delicious in his darkly tailored suit, which fitted his slim build to a "T." More and more she wondered what Gold looked like without his suit on…without anything on.

Even if this evening did cost her an arm and a leg, he was worth it.

"No, this is fine." Belle assured him. "Lovely, even."

"Good." Gold took a small swig of his water. "Well, order whatever you like, price is no object."

Belle nodded, feeling very confused. She had assumed that by the way he phrased it the other evening, that he wanted her to treat him to a meal. But now it seemed as though Gold was treating her to a night out.

So he didn't expect her to pay. _Just what does Gold want from me?_ Belle supposed that he would let her know in the course of the evening; she only hoped that she could pay the price of the deal. Though he never behaved so around her, Gold had a notorious reputation for being shrewd, always gaining the upper hand of a bargain.

"They have everything, but mostly Italian." Gold continued, lacing his fingers together, he then tented them. "I think you like the cuisine, right?"

"Yes, I do." Belle nodded.

The waiter returned and poured each of them a glass of wine. Scanning over her menu, she chose the manicotti and to her surprise he asked for the same, his voice quavering. Their waiter uttered a "Very good," and departed, leaving behind a basket of breadsticks.

Gold fidgeted in his seat, either unable to get comfortable or something else bothered him. His color was heightened, leaving him flushed behind the candlelight. Never before had she witnessed him in such a flustered state.

"Are you all right?" Belle asked.

Gold offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry. It's been awhile for me." He added, as if he could sense her bewilderment. "To be out."

Of course! Gold was not the most social man in Storybrooke. In fact, he was quite the opposite. The only time she had seen him out after dark was on the night of her visit to the Rabbit Hole, and evidently that was to check on his property. Clearly he and Jefferson did things together, but she had never heard about either appearing together in public, on a date. Storybrooke was a small, backwards place. They would not openly welcome a same-sex couple. Were Gold and Jefferson to venture out, tongues of Storybrooke would wag non-stop.

"I'm not overly social either." Belle shrugged her shoulders. Their situations were pretty opposite, but she could relate to feeling out of place. If one did not fall in line in Storybrooke, one did not fit in at all. "Most of my evenings are spent at home, with my father, reading a book."

"I, uh, I think it's remarkable that you live together." Gold said, off-handedly.

She knew what he meant, but was too polite to say. That it was odd for her at age 30 to still be living at home with her father. And it was. It was odd in this day and age. But like every other area in her life, she merely returned home after college and never left.

"Well, we grew close after my mother died. Our living situation can't last forever, but I worry what might happen if I do leave." Belle said.

Gold took another drink, this time of the wine and carefully sat the glass down. "You know, I think as long as you're happy, he'll be happy."

Belle knew he was right. Her father had gone over and beyond to help her with her transformation, of course in his own awkward manner. But to just leave so abruptly…she didn't know if she could do it.

She paused, a shocked by this little epiphany. It wasn't her father who needed her. Oh, yes, he depended on her. No, she was the one who needed him more. The whole time at college, she was homesick and lived for the visits home, as well as the phone calls and the care packages.

Belle blinked back her tears. _I can't do this now._ Grabbing a breadstick from the basket, she tore into it, popping a piece in her mouth. "Okay, enough about me. I realized on the way here, that I know next to nothing about you." Like a gentleman, he picked her up at 7pm and the ride over had been unusually quiet, but during that short drive, she came up with a number of things to ask him. "Like your first name."

"My name?" Gold's mouth fell open and she thought he was on the verge of denying her that when he replied, "Tobias."

"Tobias." Belle repeated, loving the fact that she alone – except for perhaps Jefferson – knew his name. But Tobias was perfect – unique, mysterious, strong. No need for a nickname, Tobias stood alone. "That suits you. May I call you that?"

"Of course, by all means." He gestured to her.

"Great." Emboldened by this small victory, of knowing the illusive Mr. Gold's real name, she felt at liberty to ask him other things. "And I've been dying to know how you got into theater and why you left."

"Well, I originally wanted to act, but I was terrible." Gold admitted with a small chuckle and touched his temple with latent embarrassment. "So, I switched my college major to fashion design which led to costuming, and that eventually led to me dabbling in makeup. Well, I initially liked the creative process and working behind the scenes." The carefree look he had before slowly fell away and his expression became melancholy. "I was in a relationship but it wasn't what I thought it was. I learned how superficial that world was and I left. I used my savings to buy my rental properties and here I am. My shop was another dream of mine."

No wonder Gold had been so supportive of her makeover. He really did understand, that lonely feeling of having no one and nothing, and having to start at the bottom. Storybrooke underestimated this man – she too had underestimated him. That he had been hurt by someone he loved, yet had encouraged her to believe in love and find it for herself, was inspiring.

"That's amazing. You've created and recreated yourself." She observed.

Belle cheered inwardly as the waiter carried over the orders, laying their plates before them. The waiter left again, offering them their privacy.

The steam pluming off her portion of manicotti made her hair frizz a bit. Slicing into it, she stuck a section with the prongs of her fork, blew on it and poked it between her lips. The spices in the sauce danced on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed and closed her eyes to savor the flavor.

"You're the amazing one." Gold's amused tone awakened her and drew her back into reality. Lifting her eyes to him, she watched as he dove into his meal. "Were you...did you ever date?" he queried.

"Not really." Belle sighed, feeling a little wistful. She had known a number girls who had met their True Love's in college; however, she never even came close. "I tried a little bit in college, but boys were only interested in that one thing. They were never interested in me as a person. It hasn't changed much, has it?"

Her encounters with Killian Jones proved that. She estimated that he was in his thirties and he was on the prowl, like a tom cat that needed to be neutered. Gold had been the only exception to the rule; however, he was off-limits to her.

 _Jefferson better treat Gold right._ Belle's fingers curled around her fork. _Or he'll have me to deal with._ She wasn't confrontational, but after learning that Gold had been hurt from another relationship, she found herself protective of her friend. Having met Jefferson only once, she found him charming and kind, but all-in-all a flirt.

"It more depends on the man." Gold countered gently. "Anyone who makes you feel pressured, they're not worth your time." He laid his knife down and extending his arm, he held his hand open. "Do - do I make you feel uncomfortable?"

Belle reached for him, grasping his long fingers. "Of course not! I've enjoyed our time together." Some people might be uncomfortable with his lifestyle, but she was not one of them. She might be naïve of the ends and outs of how such a relationship worked, but she figured that the trick was to treat him as she treated everyone else. Which meant she would have to be honest about her bewilderment. "One thing confuses me though. Why did you want my favor to you to be a meal?"

"I like having your company." Gold ducked his head, his salt and pepper floof shrouded his angular features. "It was a backwards way for me to be with you. Most don't want to be around me."

Gold wanted a friend. He might not want her romantically, but he did want her friendship. If that was all she could offer him, companionship, then she would be more than willing to give it to him. Better to have him in her life as a friend, than not at all.

Belle tightened her grip on him. "That is their loss. They are just prejudiced." She insisted, her temper rising. That anyone would be openly hateful towards him infuriated her. Storybrooke was too narrow-minded for its own good. "Tobias, you are a good man. Jefferson thinks so too."

"Right. But it's your opinion that matters most to me." Gold cradled her hand, his fingertips stroked her palm.

Crossing her legs, squeezing her thighs together, she fought her dirty thoughts, of him stroking her elsewhere. "I like you very much and I want to be your friend." Belle stated.

"I like you too, Belle." His eyes softened and looked a little glassy. Lifting her knuckles to his lips, he kissed the ridge.

Belle sighed. Friendship would be enough; it would have to be.

#

Gold's foot trembled as he switched from the accelerator to the break, parallel parking his Cadillac alongside the curb, in front of "Game of Thorns." Shutting off the engine, he and Belle swapped twin bashful smiles.

Aside from a little confusion, once he called upon what little courage he had clarified his intentions in regards to her, the date went smoothly. Well, except for when his bumped his wrist against his glass and came close to spilling wine on Belle, he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

He was relieved that she had chosen to wear the pink dress rather than the lacey black number that should be considered illegal in all fifty states. Not that he hated the black dress – on the contrary - he liked it far too well and hoped that Belle would wear it again someday. For him alone. But the pink frock was sexy enough in its own demur way. The sweetheart neckline alluded to sex by innocently pointing to her bust and the skirt flared out over her knees and swayed when she moved.

Pulling the key out of the ignition, Gold stuck them in his trousers' pocket. "May I see you to the door?"

Belle nodded.

Gold climbed out of the driver's seat and with cane in hand, he ambled over to her side and assisted her out of the car. Offering her his arm, her small hands curled around his elbow, and together they advanced to the door of the shop.

"I had a wonderful time." Belle paused and drew back from him.

Gold tightened his hold on his cane in a pitiful attempt to disguise his tremors. Throughout the evening, his shook, from nerves. He had never been good at first dates; coupled that with the fact that it had been twenty years since his last "first date" and that he was out with the woman he loved, was more than his reserve could bear. If Belle picked up on his apprehension, she was too polite to say. They spent a perfect evening together, sharing of their pasts and talking of what interested in them. It was perfect.

Then the evening came to a close, the deal had been fulfilled, and Gold had to have more of her company. One date was not going to be enough for him. And from the way Belle spoke and behaved, she wanted more too. God only knew why she reciprocated his feelings, but he was grateful that she did.

"Me too." Gold mustered, losing himself in her blue depths. "Would you- would you like to go out again?"

"Sure." Belle replied.

"Great." Gold's gaze settled on her delectable lips.

 _One kiss…please, just one._ He pleaded, hoping that someone in the universe was listening to his desperate prayers.

Belle rested her hand on his wrist and inclined towards his cheek. Jefferson had instructed him to let her set the pace and he should heed his friend's advice, but unable to resist temptation, Gold turned his head at the last second and brushed his lips against hers. She tasted of spicy tomato sauce and sweet wine; he was already addicted and thirsted for more, but before he lost too much control, he jerked back.

Belle released him and fumbled for the knob, slumping a bit against the door. She was gaping at him, her face still too pale under the night sky and the weak porch light.

 _Idiot, you went too fast!_ He cursed himself for his selfishness. A little was never enough for him; he had to take it all.

"Belle, I apologize." Gold's fingers twitched towards her, but he stuck his free hand in his pocket. "I should have asked first, but I'm rusty at this. I'm sorry."

Belle was still staring and when she did finally find her voice, it was high pitched. "What about Jefferson?"

 _Jefferson?_ Gold grimaced. What the hell did Jefferson have to do with any of this? She had mentioned him once before during the meal, but he was too caught up with the fact that she agreed to be his friend and spend more time with him to give it much thought.

His heart constricted sharply, knocking the wind out of him. Perhaps Belle kept hinting about Jefferson because she was interested in him. _Perhaps she had only agreed to be my friend to be with Jefferson._ He never would have pegged Belle to use him in such a manner, but she wouldn't have been the first. It made more sense than her genuinely returning his feelings.

"What about him?" Gold groused, knowing that whatever came out of her mouth next, he was going to hate it.

"He's your...boyfriend." Belle said, wrapping her arms around her slim frame.

 _Boyfriend?_ Gold blinked and was struck dumb for at least a minute. He wasn't sure he even heard her right. Let alone understood her.

It took him three tries before he could give a coherent response. "My what?"

"I thought...You're gay…" Belle stammered and then given him a quick once over with a scrutinizing gaze, which would have more than flattered him earlier, she deduced, "You're not gay?"

"No." Gold drew in a breath, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate and his chest felt heavy. "Why would you think that I'm gay?"

"You - you know about makeup and fashion." Belle slurred her words, tripping over them frantically, in an attempt to justify herself. "You were involved in theater. You live in a pink house. Papa said…I mean, I thought..."

Gold frowned and counted to ten. He couldn't care less if anyone thought he was gay. It hadn't been the first time someone suspected him of being so. Society – people to be more specific – were desperate to figure him out. However, he had always believed that his sexuality was a private matter and until now, until he had gotten to know Belle, he never much cared to explain himself to anyone.

But Belle thought he was gay. That was what she had expected of him; that was what she had wanted. She wasn't in love with him; she had no romantic feelings for him whatsoever. In her mind, he was just another friend who she could discuss clothes and makeup with.

"This was a date?" Her eyes softened, her lower lip trembled.

"It was for me." Gold withdrew his hand from his suit jacket pocket and slid it into his trouser pocket to extract the car keys. He had to get out there and fast.

"Tobias, I'm sorry." Belle took a step towards him, her expression full of remorse.

He bit down on his tongue, to keep from losing his temper. He wasn't angry with her; he had no reason to be angry with her. No, he was angry with himself. Angry that he had allowed himself to hope against hope that she could love him in return.

Gold's jaw hardened as he fought to keep his resolve. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He waved her off and turned away from her. "We'll end it here. Thank you for your time, Miss French. Have a good evening."

He ignored the fact that she was still watching him, brushing tears off her cheeks, as he left and drove off, reminding himself that Belle merely felt bad for the misunderstanding.

 _I'll get over this._ Gold stopped at a red light and slammed the heel of his palm on the steering wheel.

Like every other hurt and failure in his life, he'd get over this one too.

#

Belle couldn't catch her breath, choking back sobs, as she stumbled into the shop. _Tobias isn't gay, Tobias isn't gay, Tobias isn't gay!_ The thought flittered through her mind, coinciding with each palpitation of her heart. The man she loved was straight as they come but now hated her for buying into the stereotype that only gay men were thespians, knew how to dress a woman, knew makeup and owned pink houses. _I'm so stupid!_

Gold was everything she wanted in a man. Smart, funny, classy, handsome and he was attracted to her in return. He was right in her grasp, then she ruined it all by allowing her own foolishness to get the better of her.

She kicked off her heels, promising herself that she'd pick them up later. Taking the stairs two at a time, she ran up to the second floor and barreled into the apartment.

Papa was reclining in his easy chair, still munching on peanuts, watching the game. The second he picked up on her distraught expression, he slammed down the leg rest and shot to his feet. Peanuts went flying! "What happened? Pumpkin?" He hurried to her. "What did that bastard do to my little girl?"

Belle shook her head. Sweet and mild manner as her father was, if he thought she had been wronged by Gold, he would tear the Scotsman from limb to limb. No matter if Gold owned all of Storybrooke and could buy and sell her father out a hundred times over, Papa would mutilate him.

"Papa, Gold isn't gay." Belle took yet another swipe at her cheeks. Black residue discolored her fingers. Her mascara was smearing and she probably looked like a raccoon, but none of that mattered.

"What?" Papa's round face puckered in confusion.

"He's not gay." Belle shuddered, another sob overtaking her. "Gold isn't gay and he likes me."

"Well, okay. Good." Papa rooted around in his jeans pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and then handed it to her. "This is what you wanted."

Belle dried her face and agitated by the sudden turn of events; she twisted the cloth into knots. "Not good. I told him I thought he was gay. I screwed up!" She raised her palm to her brow. "He hates me now."

"It was a misunderstanding." He placed his large hands on her shoulders and softly compressed them. "Belle, if this man likes you, a misunderstanding will hardly scare him off."

"You didn't see his face." Belle countered.

She had never seen someone look so hurt before. Gold had to hate her. Were she to have mistaken any other straight man for being gay, they would have been highly insulted and disgusted by her. Gold was not like most straight men, but his cold expression said it all. The mask that he often worn for others – the one he had never worn with her – had returned and he made it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Ergo, he hated her. The man she loved hated her.

"I'm not cut out for dating." Belle tore herself away from her father and fled to her bedroom. "This was a mistake." She said before slamming the door behind her.

"Pumpkin-" Her father's muffled call went unnoticed by her.

Belle shed her dress, leaving her only in her slip and underwear, and fell into her bed, mashing her smudged face into the pillow. Her tears continued to flow.

The meal had been a date. Her first real date, with a man she liked and wanted, and it had gone perfectly until the end. Of course she had been none the wiser of Gold's feelings. Had she known it was a date, she would have been nervous, but she would have been ecstatic that he liked her. Gold walked her to the door, as a gentleman was supposed to and…

That kiss!

Belle brought her fingers to her lips, still relishing in the delicious soft pressure of his mouth upon hers. It was a simple, chaste kiss but magical. That kiss awakened her from her stupor and left her eager for more. The term "ovary explosion" hadn't made sense until that moment.

She should have shut her mouth, but no, she had to blurt out that she thought he was gay. Gold recoiled and couldn't get away fast enough.

 _Thirty, flirty, and thriving…what a waste._ Her whole plan was stupid.

Love was not for her. There was no point in trying to find someone else, Gold was it. If she couldn't have him, then she didn't want anyone.

 _I've already been alone for thirty years, why not the rest of my life?_


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gold let out a string of curses and slammed down the tool on the work table. His fingers wouldn't cooperate; they trembled too much for him to maneuver the pointed ends inside the innards of the Swiss cuckoo clock. He hadn't slept all night and spent those long hours in his study, listening to a record of Puccini. Three cups of coffee didn't give him the energy that he needed; rather the caffeine made him more agitated than when he got up this morning.

Raking his fingers through his crop, he grabbed the bottle of Johnny Walkers and poured himself a plentiful glass. He flopped into a nearby chair and took a swig. The golden liquid burned its way down his throat. He had always been able to hold his liquor, especially his Scotch, but the upset of last evening made his throat constrict.

 _The first day is always the hardest._ Gold chided himself. He needed to get used to being unhappy. Why before Belle, he spent years miserable. _I just need to get through today. One day at a time!_

The bell chimed as the door opened and shut.

His heart did a funny flip. _Belle?_ Could it be that she had come to him? He took another swig on hearing the familiar strut of Jefferson.

Jefferson poked his dark head between the panels of the curtain and grinned on locating Gold, then knocked the material aside and stepped through. "Hey, how'd the date go?" He asked.

Gold polished off the last bit of Scotch by gulping it down. He pushed himself up and reclaimed his position at the work bench. The liquor steadied his nerves and his hands. "Good." He grunted and picked up his tools. "Up until the point when I kissed her goodnight and she said she thought I was gay."

Jefferson threw his head back and let out a howl of laughter that lasted far longer than it needed to.

Gold pressed his lips together as his friend continued to roar.

Jefferson placed his hand on his chest, his head shaking, "That's not funny." He sobered, but the amused glint in his eye still remained.

Maybe if this happened to another couple – like David Nolan and his girlfriend Mary Margaret - perhaps he could find the humor in all of this. Gold didn't care if all of Storybrooke suspected him of being gay; none of that mattered. He knew what he was and that was enough. But Belle…the woman he loved didn't love him in return.

 _She's probably having a good laugh about this._ Gold thought bitterly. He could well imagine her sitting with her friends at Granny's, a whole gaggle of girls, cackling over the huge misunderstanding. Not only that, he had given her his moniker. Soon Tobias would be on the lips of every one in Storybrooke. There would be the few who would venture to call him "Toby" a name that he loathed. A name that his derelict father had foisted upon him as a boy, used to taunt him.

"Gets better. Belle thought that we - you and me-" He wagged his index finger between himself and Jefferson, "were a couple."

Jefferson snorted. "Well, we do have an epic bromance." Bracing his palms on the work table, he winked. "Gold, we really ought to tone it down a bit; because our intense sexual tension might make her feel uncomfortable. Besides, I'm old fashioned, I'm a one man kind of guy. I don't like to share."

"Are you finished?" Gold remained unsmiling. He knew that by confiding this to Jefferson that he would receive a fair amount of ribbing. Hopefully his friend would soon get it out of his system.

"For now." Jefferson straightened and let out a breathless sigh. "So, are you going to see her again?"

"No." Gold snapped and tossed his tools down once more. There was no point in continuing on, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on his projects today. "Look, Belle wants a friendship but I want more with her. I want everything with her. Friendship would just never be enough for me." He clenched his teeth together. "I love her, damn it."

Were he a stronger man or a better one, friendship would be enough. He ought to be grateful for whatever Belle was willing to give hm. But deep down he would always want more, hope for more. To be that close to her, but never be able to have her for himself…it would drive him crazy. Better for him to keep his distance than live in constant temptation of overstepping his bounds.

Gold grabbed the neck of the Scotch bottle and filled another glass.

"Sorry, man. Wish I knew what to say." Jefferson muttered, a mischievous look crossing his face. "Gold, you have me and I will always love you."

Gold thrust his finger at the door. "Get the hell out of here!"

Jefferson knew better than to tease much more and saluting him with a wave, he marched out of the shop. His friend meant well. He was more apt to laugh himself out of a bad mood than to brood.

Gold touched the glass to his lips and threw back his head, taking it all in one mouthful.

#

Gold lifted the Venetian blind on the door and peered out at the street. Cars zipped to and fro, and people passed by, but there was no sign of Belle. The sun had begun its descent and the street lights flickered on one by one, and the library's light was off, so he was safe to depart. Belle had already gone home for the day.

His house and his shop – those were the only two places where Gold could go without chancing an encounter with Belle. She was hardly a social butterfly, but were he to venture out and cross her at the grocery store or at Granny's, he would crumble. Therefore Dove ran his errands, dealt with the renters complaints, and collected the rent. _I can't avoid her forever._ Gold knew it was ridiculous, hiding like a coward, because inevitably he would bump into her.

Gold backed away, unhooked the cane from the counter and was ready to head out when the bell sounded. He sighed, regretting that he hadn't locked the door when he flipped the sign to "Sorry, We're Closed."

Moe shuffled inside, the apples of his round cheeks red and shiny. The man removed his cap and twisted it in his meaty grip.

"Mr. French, what can I do for you?" Gold hooked the cane back onto the edge of the counter.

Moe coughed and rubbed the back of his thick neck. "We need to talk, about Belle." He said bluntly.

Gold twisted his mouth into a grimace. _And so it starts._ Belle must have told her father what she discovered and now Moe was going to use the information against him somehow. How he lost his heart to a beautiful woman in a matter of weeks, how he was rejected and had his heart crushed.

"What transpired between Miss French and I shall stay between Miss French and I." He folded his arms across his chest, determined not to back down.

"You don't understand, this is my fault." Moe dared to lay his sweat stained cap on the recently cleaned class case and edged forward. "I misunderstand a lot of things and I told Belle that you were gay."

Gold felt his temper rising. Why Moe took such an interest in his orientation and then blatantly lied to his daughter was beyond hm. The man was a strange one; he lived in his own little world and bumbled through life. He didn't seem malicious, yet you never could tell about some people. Belle was like him in many ways; she wasn't bumbling per se, but she was naïve and she lost herself in her books. This was the woman who threw on make-up like a little girl playing dress up. The same woman who wore a revealing black dress to a dive bar. That she relied more on her father's judgement and mistook him for gay wasn't that surprising.

"I see. Well, that changes everything." Gold sneered and checked his pocket watch, then stuck it back into his vest pocket. "Are we through? I have somewhere I need to be."

Moe put up his arm, blocking the exit. No one could get through that barrier. "Wait. Belle likes you, in a romantic way. She liked you in a romantic way before that date. My daughter had feelings for you since the start."

Gold swayed to the side and stumbled into the display case. Leaning on it was the only thing that kept him upright. His resolve was faltering; his heart never felt so tender before.

It couldn't be… He wanted to make an excuse, claim that there was another misunderstanding, that Belle couldn't possibly love him. That the girl just felt sorry for him and wanted to smooth things over because of a guilty conscience. He had spent a lifetime miserable and unloved – to believe and hope that Belle loved him in return seemed impossible.

And yet, it would make sense as to why she listened to him and accepted his criticism without batting an eye lash. Why when he kissed her, for a split second she seemed to melt into his embrace.

Could it be, or was it just wishful thinking?

"Please, Gold, don't hold my mistakes against her. Hate me if you want to." Moe beseeched, his own eyes full of tears. He used the cuff of his sleeve to dry them. "But Belle…Everyone deserves a second chance, don't you think?"

Gold found himself nodded. Yes, everyone did deserve a second chance. Moe might insist that Belle loved him, but Gold didn't know if he had it in him to seek Belle out. He didn't think he could handle being rejected again.

Moe shot him a sympathetic look. "Gold, Belle's been inconsolable the last few days. You're the one who makes her happy and I want her to be happy." He picked up his cap and mashed it down on his head. "And I think she makes you happy too. Please, just try." The large man left it at that and sauntered back out of the shop.

Gold exhaled a ragged breath and scrambled for his cane, as something to hang on to. That he could have Belle's love seemed as likely as him pulling a star out of the heavens. It wasn't likely, yet there was a small part of wondered and hoped.

 _What if she does love me?_ Gold closed his eyes. He would spend the rest of his days regretting it if he didn't take another chance and missed out on having her.

#

Belle rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, a loud pop echoing throughout the quiet library. Tension – from unhappiness and lack of sleep – settled in the base of her neck and shot up bolts of pain whenever she moved too quickly. Scooting the cart closer to the bookshelf, she selected Browning's poems and attempted to scan the digits, searching for the place where it should go on the shelf. Her bleary eyes refused to focus, drained from shedding so many tears. Every patron that had come in asked if she had a cold, due to her pink rimmed eyes and puffy nose.

 _I never thought a broken heart could be so wretched._ Belle located the volume's rightful spot and eased it between two other books. The poets lamented on the loss of love; Marianne Dashwood nearly died of it; others sang melancholy ballads…Until her own heart was broken, she had no concept of such misery. She had no appetite, she couldn't sleep, and her favorite book couldn't hold her interest. The make-over that she had so delighted in no longer made her feel good or beautiful. Without Gold, even as a friend, she was devoid of joy.

She was more than willing to beg Gold's forgiveness, but he was doing his utmost to avoid her. He no longer stirred outside his shop or his house, except for the short commute between the two. Belle had attempted to visit him at the shop the other morning, but found it locked and he never came when she knocked. It occurred to her to go to his house, but figured if he refused to see her at the shop, he wouldn't take it kindly if she dropped by his home unannounced.

 _He hates me that much._ Belle heard a patron shuffle through the entrance, but gave it little thought, determined to keep her back to them as long as she could before she had to assist them. Sniffing, she took a few cleansing breaths and smoothed her gray skirt.

A familiar shadowy outline fell upon her and she froze. _No, it couldn't be!_

Belle spun around and made an awkward sound.

Gold managed a watery smile. "That skirt suits you; you look sexy."

Belle gave a short laugh. The whole time during her transformation, she had wanted to be sexy and worldly, and he cautioned her against it. But perhaps, deep down, he already thought her as such.

"Tobias, I'm sorry!" She took a step towards him and stopped, still uncertain if he still wanted her. "I-"

"Belle." Gold uttered her name like a sacred prayer.

Raising his hand to her cheek, he cradled it. His dark gaze dropped to her mouth. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against hers, tentatively at first before swiping his tongue at the seam of her mouth, begging for entrance. Unable to deny him, Belle parted her lips and felt the room spin as he explored, hitting areas within that made her pant. Mimicking the movements he made with his mouth, she could only hope that she was giving him pleasure too.

She buried her hands in his thick floof, tugging on the ends of it, relishing in its softness. He hauled her close, not satisfied until her chest was pressed to his. His determined hands roved up and down her back, not wandering too far, yet it felt so erotic. Thank God the library was empty now!

Rubbing against him, Belle felt him harden and her core ached, longing to be filled up by him.

Gold broke the kiss, making her whimper. "I hope that clears things up." His hot breath came out in short puffs, tickling her nose.

Belle giggled, embarrassed over the mistake she had made. How could she have been so blind? "Well, no, I think I need some further illumination."

Sliding her hand down his chest and beneath his suit jacket, resting it on his back, she slanted her mouth over his, slipped her tongue in and searched out his sensitive spots. The passion fueled kiss gave way to small, sipping kisses.

Gold pulled back and caressing her cheek once more, he asked, "Belle, would you be willing to go out with me? On a date?"

"Yes!" Belle exclaimed and a thought occurred to her, one that was probably too soon for her to suggest. But if she didn't, who knows when she'd work up the courage again? Or if there would be another string of misunderstandings. "I like your bed!" She blurted out.

Gold gave her a blank look. "My bed?" he repeated.

"Yes, the one at your house. In your bedroom." Belle clarified, with a blush. She didn't want to seem desperate or slutty, but she wanted to be with him…to make love to him. She had wanted it for weeks now and she wasn't going to change her mind about him, so there was no point in waiting. "It looked very…comfortable."

Finally, it dawned on him, what she meant. Gold made a strange, strangled noise at the back of his throat. "It is." He coughed, his own face reddening. "Would like to see it, again? Tonight?"

"Yes!" Belle threw her arms around Gold's neck and kiss him again.

Tonight couldn't come fast enough and she knew exactly what she would wear.

#

Belle slid the little black dress over her head and stuck her arms through the arm holes, then tugged the skimpy skirt down to her thighs. She had forgone the underwear, leaving her curves perfectly outlined. Her unmentionables and the dress she had worn earlier had been hung up on the shower rod. The black lacy number made a better teddy than a date night dress...unless the date occurred in bed.

The bed…Gold was waiting for her on the foot of it. They had gone out again, to the same restaurant and recreated much of their first date, including the kiss at the front door. The only difference was that it was his front door and they went in together. She had texted her father that the date went well and that she'd see him in a couple days, then she took her overnight bag up to the master bath.

A quick glance in the mirror, she ran a brush through her hair, taming her wild curls. Drawing in a breath, Belle smiled. _I'm ready._ She had waited for this moment for thirty years and found the right man. Others had mentioned "losing their virginity," counting as a rite of passage. She had never viewed it as something to lose, but rather a gift that she was saving for the right man.

Tobias Gold was that man.

And unlike the encounters with Killian, where she had fallen prey to her nerves, Belle had no fear whatsoever. No tremors, no clumsiness, no flakiness. She was calm, poised and…ready to pounce. Nothing had ever felt so _right_.

Belle turned and shoved the door back, her face going aflame when Gold clamped his eyes on her. He looked her up and down, the corner of his mouth twitched at the sight of the black dress.

"I couldn't part with it, but I thought it might be okay to wear now. With you." Belle said, filling the silence with the shy confession. "Only with you."

Gold's eyes widened, he licked his lips. The man who always had a clever retort on the tip of his tongue was rendered speechless. She rather enjoyed wielding such power over him.

"Wow, you- you're beautiful." He stammered, his burr thicker than usual. Setting his hands on her hips, he drew her down onto the bed next to him. "You were always beautiful, you know."

"You make me believe it." Belle laced her fingers through his.

Gold was practically naked, having shed his suit jacket and vest. The two top buttons were undone, his clavicle was showing –she longed to dip her tongue into the indention- and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His dress shoes had been kicked off and nudged aside, his feet bare.

"Tobias," Belle sighed. "I've never had sex before."

"Yes, I figured that." Gold nodded and gave her forearm a comforting stroke. "Are you sure you want me to be your first?"

"Of course!" Belle planted a kiss at the corner of his mouth. "My first and my only one."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "It's been fifteen years for me. I just want to make sure that you're certain."

"Tobias, I have waited thirty years for this." Belle pressed another kiss to his freshly shaven cheek, his spicy aftershave filling her nostrils. "I want to make love to you."

"I want that too." Gold agreed.

He rose and went to what she assumed was his side of the bed and sat down once more, propping his legs up. Patting the empty side, she scooted up to the headboard, which made her skirt ride up.

Belle guided Gold's hand to her bare thigh and felt herself throb as he stroked her hip.

"You and this dress are going to be the death of me, sweetheart." He leaned in and sucked on her lower lip, nibbling on it.

Belle slid herself beneath him and tugged him down, plucking his buttons loose. She gently scraped her nails against his bare chest, tracing his muscles, loving how they quivered under her touch. She preferred his smooth, hairless chest; he didn't look at all dirty or greasy. Shoving the shirt off, she ran her hands up and down his strong arms.

Gold laved her lower lip with his tongue before working his way down to her chest, stopping at her décolletage. His mouth closed around one of her peaked nipples and sucked on it through the material of the dress.

Belle keened, her eyes watering as he switched from one to the other. Heat flooded her belly and her hips bucked on their own accord.

Gold raised his head, smirking at her like a cat who got the cream. "Belle, may I…" He swept his hand down her stomach and stopped it at her navel. "Um…may I?"

Belle nodded, parted her knees for him, and reclined back on the pillow.

He skimmed down to her entrance, teasing her damp folds apart. Sliding a finger in, he rubbed her, then adding another finger he made her writhe. Lazy, maddening circles that set her on edge. Curling his digits, Belle was beginning to see stars.

Before she lost herself complete, Belle clamped her hand down on his wrist. "Wait! I-I want you in me." She rasped. They could explore one another later, but she wanted the real thing.

Gold withdrew his fingers and pressed a kiss to her mound. "All right, but that dress has to come off. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal!" Belle giggled and peeled the lacy black dress off and felt no shame bearing her bare body for him. For the first time in her life she felt sexually uninhibited.

Gold undid his pants and shoved them and his boxers off. He paused and averted his eyes. She knew that look; she had seen it enough in the mirror. It was embarrassment of one's self.

 _I won't have that!_ Belle pulled him down for a kiss and grasped his cock, squeezing at the base, palming him. _I won't have him thinking badly of himself!_

Gold tore himself away, clasping his hand over hers. "Belle, what are you doing?" His hair disheveled and his color heightened the dark expression in his eye, he looked as though he wanted to devour her.

"I love your body." Belle noticed a little scar on his upper lip and made a mental note to ask him about it later. She laved that bit with her tongue. "I love how wry you are, how good you are with your hands. Your hair is so soft and it makes you look mysterious. Your eyes have a million expressions, but when you look at me, they are always soft. And your brogue, its-"

Gold cut her off by swallowing her words, battle her tongue for control. "Belle," He groaned, "I won't last much longer. Um…"

Belle understood and released his cock, moving her hand to his backside, squeezing it. "I'm ready."

"You're killing me, sweetheart." He guided the tip of him to her entrance and slowly slid in, taking his time.

Belle whimpered; there was a sharp pain, but his comforting murmurs and his diligent fingers rubbing the spot where they met, helped her loosen up. She focused on her breathing until she got used to the feeling of him inside of her. It didn't feel bad…it was just new.

"D-do you s-still want to c-continue?" Gold stuttered.

Belle placed a kiss on the side of his jaw. "Yes!"

Gold guided her along, coaching her on how to rock her hips, then they fell into a steady pattern. Every time their hips met, they kissed. He slid his hand between them, pinching that nub and once more the stars returned.

Wild with euphoria, she sank her teeth into his shoulder as he came, spilling himself inside of her.

Gold collapsed on her in a sweaty heap, his forehead nuzzling hers.

Belle thumbed the patch of skin that she had bit. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Gold snorted and sprinkled kisses across her face. "Mmm, no matter. Bite me whenever you wish." Kissing her chastely, he added, "I love you, Belle."

Belle encircled her arms around his waist. "I love you too."

Gold rolled them, maneuvering to be on the bottom, letting her use him as a pillow. And she was right, the bed was incredibly comfortable.

"Marry me?" Gold wound a lock of her hair around his index finger.

She petted his chest, loving how smooth he was. "Yes."

Belle had found the term "sex-sated" in a book once, but it was only now that she understood what it had really meant. Limp, weary body and limbs devoid of all energy – yet feeling whole and satisfied. As her lids grew thick and sleep called to her, she couldn't believe how well things had turned out for her.

Her silly Thirty, Flirty and Thriving scheme was riddled with flaws. She could have avoided much pain if she had just approached Gold and been honest about her feelings from the start. Yet she couldn't regret it entirely, because it still led her to him in the end.


End file.
